


I Touched A Statue and Got A Super-Hot Boyfriend

by NephilimEQ



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Eternal Sterek, Finding home, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Greek Myths, Historical AU, Humor, Ireland, Light Angst, M/M, Missing home, Nemeton, Northern Ireland, Nostalgia, Plot Twists, Romantic Soulmates, Rome - Freeform, Secrets, Soulmates, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NephilimEQ/pseuds/NephilimEQ
Summary: Stiles came back around to the front and gently reached up and grasped the marble hand with his right. He was surprised to find that it felt warm. He held on a moment longer and then went to let go to hand Lydia his phone to take a picture…and then nearly had a panic attack when he felt warm fingers grasp his hand, then heard a grunt and felt a strong tug towards the floor as something fell down next to him.





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired from *this* post: "There is a beautiful statue of a person in the middle of a large city, and the rumor surrounding the statue is that when they touch hands with their soulmate, they will become human. Naturally, it becomes a perfect photo and video opportunity to post while holding its hand. One cute selfie attempt results in an empty statue podium and you just barely catching a very confused person in your arms."
> 
> All I could think of was Derek as a hot, Greek statue. So...this has come into fruition. I have no idea how long this will end up being, so please bear with me.

 

**Chapter 1**

Stiles stared openly at the vast expanse of the museum as he walked in, beyond excited to finally be at the Vatican. Specifically, at the Museo Pio Clementino. He was on vacation with his own money and had taken the time to plan the trip to the last detail, and it was perfect timing, because Lydia was also there on the same day, finishing up her last semester getting her Doctorate in Ancient Symbols.

Despite having his phone on him, he hadn’t taken a single picture, jealously guarding every single memory he made.

His dad had been shocked when Stiles had told him that he wouldn’t be taking that many pictures, but Stiles didn’t really care. There was something special about experiencing a place firsthand that pictures didn’t even come _close_ to capturing. But, for the sake of his dad and his friends back home, he was making sure that he got a picture of himself next to one recognizable monument, piece of architecture, or statue at each place. He’d started in London and then worked his way through Madrid, Paris, Zurich, Prague, and Istanbul…but now he was finally in Rome.

And he was at the Vatican Museum at dusk. It had only become public back in 1973, and so it was practically untouched in certain parts.

But, because he was a dutiful son and a good friend, he was going to get a picture at the museum. As he walked through, he recognized most of the pieces on sight. Lydia had sent him a ton of information beforehand, and he’d read it all, certain that she would ask him questions.

Of all the statues, the one that he found most interesting was the statue of Apollo, or _Apollo of Belvedere_ , as it was called.

What made it so interesting was a rare fact that was unknown to the public, but circled around the academic world, specifically within Lydia’s areas of expertise. Apparently, back when it was made between 350 and 325 BC, the supposed original sculptor of Grecian origin, Leochares, had sculpted it and had recorded in an ancient record that he’d sculpted it from real life and it was based off of the illegitimate son and secret heir to the entire Greek Empire, and that his soul had been captured in the marble because of Leochares’ devotion to the man, and only the touch of a soul mate could bring the soul back.

However, the record that was thought to exist had been looted, along with his original bronze casts, by the Romans and sent to one of the Romans’ national libraries. The bronze casts had been taken back to Rome. Unfortunately, the library that they’d sent the documents to, had been the Library of Alexandria, which was subsequently burned in 48 BC.

Lydia had then told him, that if he looked closely, there was a faint wear pattern on the right palm of the statue from people trying to free the heir to the Greek throne.

Stiles was a nerd and found this incredibly interesting, so he decided to save it for last.

First, he saw _Apoxyomenos_ , and then skated down to look at _Arno, the River God_ statue, one of the few reclining ones that still existed. Still, he took no pictures. As he approached the graphic _Laocoon_ statue that depicted a two-headed snake writhing around two women and a man, each head biting at the man’s thigh and hip, he saw Lydia.

She lit up when she saw him and waved him over, her floral top catching the fading evening light through the archway.

“Hey, you!” she said, stretching up on her tip toes to get her arms around his neck. “It’s so good to see you!”

He grinned at her as he pulled back and said, “You, too, Lydia. So, what are you doing all the way over here? I thought you told me that you’d meet me at the _Laocoon_ statue. This isn’t exactly at the statue,” he observed, but she just shook her head and tutted and then grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to her and pointed.

“You can’t see the proper symbology from up close on this one. You have to take a few steps _back_ to see it,” she explained, and then moved the two of them slightly to the right and showed him the hidden shape of two-headed snake as it looped between the three figures and Stiles’ eyes widened when he saw it.

It was an infinity symbol.

Wow. That was pretty neat. No wonder she liked her choice of career, so much.

“Pretty cool,” he admitted, and she smiled and said, “It’s one of the few ouroboros symbols ever seen in the Grecian culture,” and he nodded and then asked, “Hey, so I’ve been picking things at random, but I’m trying to save the Apollo statue for last. Which ones would you recommend the most? You’re the art expert, after all,” and she preened at his compliment.

She thought for a moment, a secretive smile at the corner of her mouth, and then said, “Okay, then. Follow me.”

Keeping his arm tucked around hers, he let her drag him around the museum. He only recognized a handful, but she knew every single one of them, giving him a better tour than any guide, knowing all of the secrets of the sculptors and the most interesting stories behind their work that didn’t make it into the two-dollar pamphlet.

Finally, they came all the way back to the Apollo statue, which had been moved temporarily to the center of the museum, which was surprisingly empty. Curious, he looked around them…and then back at Lydia.

“Where is everyone?”

She gave him another secretive smile and admitted, “So, I might have known that you were saving this one for last and pulled a few strings so that you could appreciate it properly, without any…distractions,” and he stared at her, gob smacked. She had used her status as a visiting doctorate student to get a whole section of the museum portioned off just for him?

“You…you…?”

He couldn’t quite finish the question and she seemed smug as she said, “Yes. Me.”

He stared at her for a moment, until she gripped his chin between her perfectly manicured fingers and directed his gaze over to the statue and said, “You’re supposed to look _at_ the statue, Stilinksi. I mean, sure, I’m a work of art,” she said, primly adjusting her black pencil skirt, “But the statue is why we’re here.”

Stiles snorted but did as she asked. The two of them stared at it for a long while, making a slow circle around it, and Lydia gave him a running commentary on its history as they did, and then he interrupted her and asked, “Uh…why are all the dicks so…well…small?”

She laughed and explained, “According to the ancient Greek playwright, Aristophanes, a “gleaming chest, bright skin, broad shoulders, a tiny tongue, strong buttocks, and a little prick” were considered the male ideal. Of course, since he based this sculpture off of a real man, I highly doubt that to be the case of the man he based it on,” she surmised out loud. “In fact, most Greeks were slightly…well, _above_ average,” she added daintily, reaching up and pulling a strand of curled hair behind her ear as she gave the statue a long once over with her sharp eyes.

Stiles rolled his eyes and drawled, “Of course, they were,” and slowly went up to take a slightly closer look at the right hand.

Several of the fingers were missing, but he saw the worn spot that she had mentioned in her notes. He glanced back up at the face, finding it not very attractive and then asked from his bent over position, “Hey, Lydia…how good was this dude at faces?”

“Almost all the faces he put on his statues were the same. Some sculptors do that because it’s easiest, and because most of the work goes into the body. Also, since the original bronzes were stolen by the Romans, it’s fully possible they changed the faces to suit their needs. Why?”

Stiles smirked and said, “Just wondering if this guy comes to life, if he’ll be as ugly as this dude,” and he didn’t have to look behind him to know that she was rolling her eyes.

He straightened back up and took another lap around the statue, really taking it in. It was obviously larger than life, but certain details caught his eye. The drape of the cloak and the position of the hands and feet. He looked as if he was waiting for someone. As if he was looking ahead to see the path he was about to take with that person.

Realizing he was falling in too deep with his analysis, he came back around to the front and gently reached up and grasped the marble hand with his right.

He was surprised to find that it felt warm. He held on a moment longer and then went to let go to hand Lydia his phone to take a picture…and then nearly had a panic attack when he felt warm fingers grasp his hand then heard a grunt and felt a strong tug towards the floor as something fell down next to him. He tried to shake his hand free, but a low, rough voice said, “ _Óochi. Paramoni…_ ”

Lydia let out a scream and Stiles glanced up and saw that the statue was no longer on its pedestal. He looked to his right and down…and on the floor was the most gorgeous man he’d ever laid eyes on…and he was holding hands with him. He tried to remove his hand, but the man repeated, “ _Óochi. Paramoni_ ,” and Stiles didn’t know what to do. The man’s grip was like a vice and his whole body looked remarkably better than had what been up on the pedestal moments before.

He frantically looked at Lydia and said, “Uh…translate? You know more languages than I do,” and she hesitated for a moment, looking as if she was about to bolt, her hands still over her mouth in shock, but then in a shaky voice, got out, “It’s…it’s Greek. He, he said…uh…he said, No. Stay.”

“What, you mean, like…he doesn’t want me to let go of him?” She shrugged and looked lost and he felt the panic finally set in after the weirdness and he hissed out, “This is insane! I touch a statue and he comes to life and he’s talking to me in Greek? I…I am a freakin’ tourist! I don’t even have any Greek in me! How the hell am I some ancient Greek guy’s freakin’ _soul_ mate? Huh?”

She let out a shaky breath and said as she pressed two fingers to her temple, “I don’t know, all I do know is that I am _totally_ not getting that grant that I was hoping for,” and Stiles glared at her and said, “Really not the time, Lydia! What we need is a way out of here without being seen…and we need it _now._ ”

She nodded and seemed to come to her senses and looked around the empty gallery and then said, “Okay, follow me. I know a few exits the public doesn’t know about,” and she walked quickly down an empty corridor, her heels clicking on the stone floor, and Stiles followed after her, clumsily picking up the cloak that had come with the man when he’d become real, and held it up to cover certain parts of his body as they walked up to a painting and Lydia slid her fingers along a panel in a wall…which then _opened._

As she pulled them through, Stiles couldn’t help but hiss, “There are secret _doors_ in the Vatican museum?” and she stage whispered back at him as they rushed down a dark, damp corridor, “It’s the Vatican! Of course, there are secret doors!”, and then they were at the end of the hallway, exiting through another door that lead into…an alleyway? Outside the Vatican?

She glanced left and right and then said, “Okay, all clear. There’s a men’s clothing store not too far from here. I’ll go in and get him some clothes and shoes, while you stay here and keep an eye on him.”

“Wait!” Stiles balked at her leaving him alone with the stranger. “Why are _you_ doing the clothes shopping? Do you even know what size he is?”

Lydia rolled her eyes and drawled, “Stiles, it took me ten seconds to figure it out. In European sizes, he’s 117-84-94 cm, foot size 11, and his inseam is 36 inches. 91.44 cm, if we’re being exact.” She arched an imperious eyebrow at him, and he swallowed.

“Oh.”

She rolled her eyes a second time and then turned and disappeared around the corner, leaving Stiles with the mostly naked man who didn’t speak a word of English in a back alley of Rome, just outside the walls of the Vatican Museum. Not exactly how he’d seen his day going, to be honest.

He tried to move his hand, and again, the man protested, but feeling desperate, as well as quite stupid, he put his other hand on the man’s head and turned it towards him and said, “Look, I’m not going to lose you, I just need my hand back. I need to fix your…sash.”

He gestured at the cloth, and was surprised when the man nodded and slowly let go of Stiles’ hand, allowing him to wrap it once around his waist, once over his shoulder, and then one more time back around his waist, so he almost looked like a Roman gladiator…who spoke Greek. As he adjusted it to make sure that it stayed, he couldn’t help but admire what he saw. Olive skin, thick black hair and beard, as well as running down his chest, along with a dusting on his arms and legs, and his eyes, when he managed to keep them open, were a startling mix of gray, gold, and green. The word hazel didn’t seem to do it justice, Stiles thought to himself, and neither had the sculptor, because the man was built like an Armani model…

But that was when he realized that he was ogling the poor man who seemed exhausted, and so he carefully helped him over to the wall and they sat down on an abandoned chaise lounge that was water stained and fraying at the edges, with slight scorch marks on the frame. _Only in the back streets of Rome would one find something like this_ , he mused.

He rubbed the stranger’s shoulder and put his right hand back into the man’s soft, warm one, and said, “I know you don’t understand me, but we’ll make sure we get you somewhere safe, okay?”

Stiles was startled when the man looked up at him and said, in perfectly accented Italian, “ _Ho bisogno di acqua_ ,” of which Stiles only understood the last word, but that was enough. The man wanted water. Okay, Stiles could do that. He reached into his bag and pulled out his metal water bottle and removed the lid.

He pointed to it, and then took a sip, showing him that water was inside of it, and the man practically snatched it out of his hands, holding it to his lips, drinking it down greedily.

_Of course, he was thirsty_ , he thought to himself sarcastically. _He’s been frozen in stone for the last twenty-three hundred years._

As he drank, Stiles hoped that Lydia would be back soon. But he also wondered why the man who was a Greek statue not only spoke Greek, but also what sounded like flawless Italian. After a moment, his brain went, _Well, duh, he’s been in an Italian museum for the last five hundred or so years,_ and he wanted to smack himself upside the head.

It was also very possible that he knew English, but it was just taking him a while to get to it. It was one the reasons why Stiles loved Italy so much, especially Rome. English was as common as Italian.

They sat in silence after he’d drained the water…and then Stiles decided to try his luck.

Adjusting himself on the lounge, he leaned towards him and leveled his eyes with him and slowly said, “You know Greek and you know Italian, so I’m taking a guess here…but do you understand English, too?” The man nodded. “Do you _speak_ English?” Another nod. Good. “Okay, then. Can you give me your name?”

“Son…son of Demetrius,” he gasped out, and Stiles crinkled his nose at that. That was a bit too long for his taste, and it wasn’t exactly a name.

Stiles patted him on the shoulder…his _very_ firm shoulder, and said, “Well, that’s a bit long, so how about I call you…Derek?” It was the middle name of an old childhood friend of his and seemed to be a good fit. The man nodded. Great. “Okay, Derek, let’s see if we can find out what to do with you,” he said, settling himself next to him once more, one hand still clutched tightly in Derek’s, who still wouldn’t let go.

He was fine with that.

Luckily, Lydia reappeared not much later, and Stiles let out a sigh of relief as she came into the alleyway carrying three bags of clothes, and he goggled at the bags and said, “He just needs a change of clothes, not a whole wardrobe, Lydia!” and she snapped back at him, “He needs day clothes, evening clothes, and pajamas. I got two outfits of each.” Stiles stared at her, and she confessed, “Okay, there was a sale and I’m not gonna turn down the chance to dress up a man as gorgeous as this. I may be engaged, but I still have eyes,” she said, pulling out boxers and a pair of expensive jeans.

Stiles leaned down and helped her get out the clothes, and then between the two of them, they got Derek dressed.

As she tugged the sport coat over the crisply pressed white shirt, Stiles said, “Oh, by the way, not only does he speak Greek, he’s fluent in Italian and at least understands English. I haven’t had the chance to see if he can speak it as well as the other two,” he admitted, “And his name is Derek. Actually, it’s son of Demetrius, but that was too long, so I asked if I could call him Derek and he said yes.” Lydia abruptly stopped in her adjustments and stared at him. “What?”

“You mean…he understood what I just said?” she said in an accusing tone and Stiles nodded, confused…and then saw her anger flash and quickly subside. “That’s just fine,” she added, her voice terse, and he knew that he’d messed up.

“Uh…I should have told you that _first_ , shouldn’t I?” She nodded. “Okay, my bad.”

At his comment, Derek looked up under hooded eyebrows and repeated quizzically, “My…bad?” and Stiles quickly explained, “It’s a form of saying that I am sorry,” and Derek’s eyes widened, and he nodded, seeming to understand his explanation.

Lydia tugged on the jacket one more time and smiled.

“There. All set to go walking along the streets of Rome.”

Stiles took a step back and looked as well…and just about swallowed his tongue. Lydia had certainly gotten her sizes right, because the clothes fit him like a glove: he looked like he’d just walked off a runway in Milan. No, he was too pretty. He had to fix it. He desperately looked around the alley, hoping to find something to ruin the outfit, but even as he thought of every way to ruin it (remove buttons, add a stain, mess up his hair, put dirt on his pants, rip the collar), he knew that it wouldn’t work. Anything he did would only make him stand out more.

“Uh, Lydia,” he managed to get out past suddenly dry lips. “You can’t let him go out like this.”

She turned and gave him a look, her brow furrowed.

“Why not? He looks great, don’t you think?” she asked, reaching up and dusting off nonexistent dust from Derek’s shoulders, her fingers tracing lightly along the seams, and Stiles nearly blew a gasket when she added in a completely unbothered tone, “I think we should take him to Ristorante Arlύ.” She paused, plucking a hair from the collar and then said determinedly, “Peter has a standing table, there, and I’m certain he won’t mind his fiancé using it for the night.”

She turned and walked down the alleyway, Stiles belatedly grabbing Derek’s hand and following behind her, and he was taken aback by the sudden bustle of the beginning of the nightlife in Rome. As they moved through the crowd, Lydia leading the way with her confident stride, Stiles came to one conclusion.

His evening had just turned into a big problem. Once she got an idea in her head, that meant that it was going to happen, whether anyone else liked it or not.

And it looked like they were going to one of the most expensive restaurants next to the Vatican, where one of their most famous sculptures had just disappeared and they were the last ones to be seen with it.

Yay.

 

 


	2. A Statue Finds His Feet

**Chapter 2**

When they arrived at the restaurant, a man came over and escorted the three of them to a private booth in the corner, where Stiles made sure that Derek was on the inside. He wasn’t taking any chances of him getting loose. He was nervous enough as it was, knowing that they probably had Vatican security looking for them, since they were the last ones seen next to the now missing statue. And he also felt woefully underdressed compared to everyone else in the restaurant in his jeans, boots, and red hoodie.

Yeah. His nerves were shot.

A waiter was with them in an instant, and without even glancing at the menu, Lydia said, “The usual, Mario. For my friends, as well, plus one more for Peter. Oh,” she lightly tapped his arm and said before he could leave the table, “When my fiancé arrives, please tell him to call Bianchi before he meets us. He’ll know what it means.”

“Peter’s _meeting_ us?” Stiles said, incredulous. He was not on good terms with Peter Hale.

She tapped a finger on the table and said, “Yes, he is. And I have just asked him for a _huge_ favor, so you will be _nice_.” Her tone was icy, and then shifted to bright and airy as she quickly added, “Besides, Derek, here, deserves to only have the most genuine Italian cuisine. This is an opportunity for us to show him a bit of modern culture.”

Stiles snorted and was about to say something else, reaching across the table to make a point, but suddenly Derek’s hand came up and he slid his fingers between Stiles’, and he was unsure of how to react.

Derek looked at him with wide, searching eyes, and Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to pull his hand away, so he slowly drew their hands back off the table so that they rested on Stiles’ thigh. A slightly awkward silence falling over the three of them.

But then Lydia broke it with, “I think, after this, you should take Derek to your hotel,” and Stiles nodded, agreeing with her assessment, and she gently kicked the bag full of Derek’s new clothes over to him under the table, and Stiles sent her a silent thank you with his eyes. At that point, however, Stiles became aware of several feminine (and a few male) gazes in their direction, and without even turning to look, he knew that their’ eyes were trained on the pinnacle of manliness sitting next to him in the booth. Not that he blamed them, of course, but they didn’t need any more attention.

“We’re drawing some eyes,” said Lydia softly, glancing pointedly to the side, and Stiles nodded.

“Yeah. I think I can fix that.”

Without pausing, he brought his and Derek’s entwined hands back above the table and left them there in the open for all to see. He could tell Lydia was trying to hide an amused smirk, so he glared at her and snapped, “If people think he’s taken, then they won’t feel as compelled to stare,” and she gave him a reluctant nod.

With one problem solved, they now just had to solve the rest. One, they were most likely wanted for questioning in the disappearance of one of the more famous statues at the Museo Pio-Clementino, and two, the statue had come to life and now kept on looking over at Stiles with wide, almost doe-like glances…and they had no _idea_ what they were going to do with him. He was a man completely out of time, almost twenty-three hundred years, to be exact.

Not really thinking about it, Stiles ran his thumb over the back of Derek’s hand and asked in a hushed tone, “Okay, so what kind of favor did you ask Peter for, and how is it going to help us with _him_?”

Lydia gave him a curious smile and replied, “Peter just happens to be a very large donor to the Pio-Clementino, and so has some leverage with those on the Art Advisory Board. Since I’ve asked him nicely, he just might be able to convince them to…look in another direction. Besides, I doubt that they’d ever think that _I_ was capable of stealing a statue,” she added primly, pursing her lips. “My reputation precedes me, after all.”

Stiles glared and squeezed Derek’s hand as he leaned forward and hissed, “But they might think _I_ am, Lydia! Did that ever occur to you?”

She shook her head.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she assuaged. “You’re not the thieving type, but also, you have no previous criminal record, and that can only help you.”

Stiles snorted and absently squeezed Derek’s hand a second time, who gently returned the gesture. Lydia gave the two of them an amused look, but he just leveled his eyes at her. Unaffected by his look, she just shrugged her shoulders and didn’t say a word as the sommelier came over and poured them their glasses of wine.

Stiles nearly choked on his first tentative sip as he saw Derek lift the wine glass to his lips and drink almost half of it down in one long swig.

He put his wine glass down and reached over and said, “Hey, whoa! Slow down, there. You don’t wanna get drunk,” he added, taking the glass from him, putting it over in front of him. Derek’s brow furrowed and he gave Stiles an odd look.

“Where is the… _g_ _éfsi_? Uh… _gusto_?” he asked, licking his lips, obviously unable to find the word in English, seemingly more befuddled by the wine than by Stiles’ reaction. His other hand was still firmly holding onto his, and now Stiles was the one who was even more confused at his words. It took him a moment, but bits and pieces of his rough Italian came back to him and he figured out what word he was trying to remember. Derek was asking about the flavor.

“The, the flavor?” Stiles supplied, and Derek nodded. “It’s right there, in the wine. You just have to, you know…drink it slower,” he explained and took a slow, short sip of his drink, showing him how to enjoy it, and he glanced over at Lydia and she did the same.

But Derek still looked confused as he took a slower sip and then shook his head and said, his accent disappearing the more he spoke, “No. No flavor. It’s not a real drink…it tastes like…grape water.”

Stiles shared a look with Lydia, and then saw her eyes widen and she let out a little, “Oh,” and her eyebrows shot up. She then said, “You remember the _original_ Greek wines. They…they were very different from modern wine,” she explained, looking at Stiles when she did. “When they started making wine, it was about quality, not quantity, and it was a lot richer from today’s wines. So, yes, this would taste completely different. In fact, your description is right, Derek,” she added, reaching across and touching her fingers to his wrist. “This is grape water. How about we get you some ice water, instead?”

Stiles didn’t know how to react, but Derek nodded and replied, “Yes. That sounds good. Water.”

She ushered over Mario with a flick of her fingers and got him the water, and just as it was delivered to the table, a familiar stride came across the restaurant floor, along with the glint of light from a gold Rolex off the left wrist of a man wearing an impeccably tailored Italian suit. It was Lydia’s fiancé. Peter Hale.

As he approached the table, Lydia rose up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, which he returned and then they slid back into the booth.

She put her napkin into her lap and then said, “So, Peter…did you get my message?”

He nodded.

“I did.” He unfolded his napkin, laid his cutlery in proper order and put his napkin on his thigh. “I made a quick call and found out about a certain statue that’s gone missing and that your name was being floated around. Apparently, you checked out special viewing time on that statue for a… _friend,_ ” he said, intoning the last word with a tone that Stiles was very familiar with. “However,” he drawled in that imperious way of his, “It’s been taken care of. After talking with several… _select_ members of the board, it may have been implied that said statue has been taken by some very unscrupulous thieves who snuck in, disabled security, and took a secret exit out of the museum. Also, they might have threatened my fiancé and her friend, which just might have made me very hesitant to add my donation to next week’s charity dinner…”

He looked over at Lydia, and she gave him a proud look and sat up a little bit straighter and shot Stiles a _look_ , one that said with one single arch of an eyebrow, _See? I told you Peter could help,_ and Stiles kept from rolling his eyes and managed to get out, “Thank you, Peter. It’s much appreciated,” and the man tilted his head in Stiles’ direction.

Peter then looked over at Derek. His eyes narrowed and a smirk appeared on the corner of his mouth.

“And who are you, might I ask?”

Without any hesitation, he said, “Son of Demetrius, named Derek,” and Stiles tried to cover with, “His name’s Derek. Derek Tyler.” Again, he pulled the last name of a friend from grade school. He squeezed Derek’s hand and added, “He’s, uh…my boyfriend.”

Instead of a skeptical look of disbelief, like Stiles expected, Peter gave a fond glance at their’ entwined fingers and then smiled and said, “Finally. I was wondering when you would find someone. It’s about time,” he added with a smug grin, tugging the napkin to cover his entire lap as Mario came back with a large tray and four plates of food.

“Ah, Mario,” Peter said, turning his attention to the man, “ _Grazie._ _Per favore, dai questo allo chef per me,_ ” and handed him a folded piece of paper. The waiter nodded and left.

“So…shall we?”

Stiles wanted to smack Peter at the way he put on airs and showed off in that arrogant but charming way of his, but instead drew his and Derek’s hand back across the table and said just loud enough for the man next to him to hear, “I need my hand, now,” and Derek slowly let his hand go and reached for his napkin, his silverware clattering to the table, the sound causing several patrons in the restaurant to look up from their tables and over towards theirs.

Derek barely glanced at the silverware, and instead picked up a roll of bread, dipped it in the sauce around his chicken and took a large bite.

Stiles didn’t know what to do…but luckily Lydia was faster than him, and said, “That looks like a good idea,” and immediately dropped her fork and did the same as him, and Stiles let out a sigh of relief and copied him as well, thanking the powers above that Lydia was the smartest person he knew.

Peter looked a bit taken aback, but then said with that damn smirk of his, “When in Rome,” and Stiles snorted at the intended joke.

Okay, so maybe the evening wasn’t a total loss.

The rest of dinner went surprisingly well, with Derek learning very quickly and without any suspicion from Peter, as he had to take a call midway through his meal, giving both Stiles and Lydia the chance to show him how to use a fork and knife together for his chicken, making sure he simply didn’t pick it up in his fingers and rip at it with his teeth.

Peter insisted on dessert, which had Stiles’ nerves back up, but they settled when he saw that he’d ordered one of the only Greek items on the menu: almond cake. Lydia took great pride in explaining to all of them why almond cake was so unique and why it had thrived in ancient Greek culture, and Stiles noted that Derek, who had seemed nervous and tense throughout dinner, relaxed at hearing her explanation, and it occurred to Stiles that Derek was reliving home through her words.

When it came, Lydia mentioned that it was traditionally eaten with one’s hands, and they all didn’t hesitate to pick up their pieces and take large bites.

Derek let out a soft sigh as he chewed and swallowed, and Stiles said softly, “Remind you of home?”

He nodded.

“Yes. It does. It’s much sweeter than I remember.”

Peter heard them, however, and said as he wiped crumbs from his mouth with his pristine white napkin, “So where’re you from Derek? Pardon me for saying so, but I would say from your complexion and, well, food habits and tastes, near the Mediterranean…”

Derek stared at him a moment, as if translating his words, and then nodded and said, “Yes, I am. I am Hellene.”

Peter’s brow furrowed and then his eyes widened, and he let out a chuckle and smirked as he waved his napkin at the man and drawled, “You are a tricky one! Greek. I should have known.” He put his napkin next to his plate and observed, “And a man of the arts, I see. Very few people outside of the art community remember the Greeks’ name before the Romans corrupted it.” He tilted his head. “An artist and partner to a man devoted to history. An excellent pair.”

Stiles felt himself flush, both in nervousness at just barely keeping their cover, and then at being under the scrutiny of Peter’s gaze.

And then Lydia’s fiancé gave Derek a searching look and said, “This may sound odd, but you seem very familiar. Do you have relatives here in Italy? Or…maybe we’ve met before?”

Lydia came to the rescue with a hand on Peter’s arm, suggesting lightly, “How about you and I head on back to the apartment and let these two go back to the hotel, hmm? It’s been a long day and I’m certain they would both like to…rest.”

She arched an eyebrow in Stiles’ and Derek’s direction, and Stiles withheld the impulse to roll his eyes.

Instead, he slid out of the booth, still horribly self-conscious at how underdressed he looked, and then reached for Derek’s hand and helped him to his feet. Derek looked down at their hands and then back up at Stiles and smiled. Stiles was confused. They’d been holding hands most of the evening, even, so why was he…and that was when Stiles realized. Derek had initiated it almost every time. This time, Stiles had. And not out of necessity to keep a cover.

He swallowed and felt his face flush for a second time in less than a minute.

 _No use in lingering_ , he thought to himself, grabbing the bag of clothes from under the table, and then hastily got them out of the restaurant. He thought about calling an Uber, but the nightlife was lively and the hotel wasn’t far…and it might be a bit too much of a culture shock to go in a car, so Stiles played it safe, and simply tucked himself closer to Derek and navigated the two of them down the city streets.

Derek’s head swiveled as he took in the sights, smells, and sounds, but he kept on looking back over at Stiles and smiling.

God, Stiles wished he would stop doing that. It made the whole thing look like something out of a romantic music video. The handsome foreigner in a suit without a tie, open collar, winding his way through a city at night, lights from passing restaurants and cafes reflecting across his hair and face, and in his eyes, looking at everything wide-eyed, like a child at Christmas, dragging Stiles behind him, who couldn’t help but look at him with a fond, amused glance, the bag of high-end clothes dangling on the end of his wrist. Like out of a movie.

Any second now, Stiles would find himself being pulled into a hug under a tree on the sidewalk and rain would start to fall…luckily, that didn’t happen.

Instead, Derek suddenly stumbled, breaking the romantic montage, and Stiles found himself apologizing to two very irate German women, whose coffee had been spilled, and he quickly forked over some cash, which seemed to placate them, and dragged the man the rest of the way to the hotel.

He never stopped looking.

Especially when they got on the elevator. Derek marveled at the buttons and the feel of motion, and Stiles fully expected him to shout and exclaim, “Witchcraft!”, but he did nothing of the sort, and instead shocked Stiles with the comment, “Is it some sort of advanced pulley? Does it run on water?”

As they stepped off onto their floor, Stiles chuckled and said, silently marveling at how smart the man was, “Yes, to the pulley, but no to the water. You’ve probably noticed the lights that stay on?”

He nodded.

“You’ve learned Hellene fire,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Stiles snorted and replied, “Not exactly, no. It’s called electricity,” he explained swiping the card and unlocking the door, ushering Derek inside. “We found out that lightning exists in smaller sizes, and we harnessed it for power,” he added, and Derek’s eyes widened almost comically, and he smiled broadly and said, excitedly, “You’ve unlocked the sky’s power!”

Letting out a soft sound of amusement, Stiles nodded.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He pointed out the extra queen-sized bed, which had his stuff sprawled all over it, and said, “You’ll sleep there. Lemme just clean it up,” but as if Derek didn’t hear him, he went and sat on Stiles’ bed and said, “It has been a long time since I’ve shared a bed. I hope I meet to your satisfaction,” and Stiles choked on air.

“You hope you…meet my…my what, now?” he managed to get out, and Derek looked at him innocently and repeated, “Your satisfaction. I have been told that I make noise when I sleep that is quite unpleasant. I hope that it doesn’t disturb your rest,” and Stiles relaxed. Okay, good. Not the bad place that his mind had just gone to. Derek then said, “These beds are very soft,” and pressed his hand against the mattress and looked it over in wonder.

“Yeah, they are,” said Stiles distractedly as he dug through his suitcase for some nicer clothes to wear tomorrow, to keep up with the clothes Lydia had bought for Derek. “It’s an expensive hotel.”

Derek reached for the sport coat and tried to take it off…and Stiles stifled a laugh at seeing him struggle. It was obviously a garment that he was unfamiliar with, so Stiles stopped rifling through his bag and went over to help him. He got him out of the jacket and shoes, and then reluctantly undid the first few buttons.

He then gestured and said, “You can do the rest,” and Derek looked up at him, his eyes wide and searching, forcing Stiles to step back and repeat himself and then turn back to his bag.

As he finished digging out his nicest pair of jeans, a dark gray button-up, and the only sport coat he owned, a dark blue one with steel buttons, he wondered if it was nice enough so that he wouldn’t look like a complete hobo if he was walking next to Derek out in public. He silently cursed Lydia for having such expensive taste and the money to afford it.

He then glanced over his shoulder and yelped, “Oh, Jesus!”

Derek was naked.

“Is something wrong?”

Stiles finally managed to stutter out, “Uh, why, why…why are you naked?”

“I am going to sleep.”

Stiles shook his head and said, “Yeah, well, you have clothes in the bag for you to put on to sleep in, so how about you just put those on? You’ve seen how clothes work, I’m pretty sure you can do it yourself,” he finished, torn between wanting to simply stare at him and desperately trying to let him keep some modesty.

He heard the confusion in his tone as Derek said, “But why would I wear clothes to sleep?”

“Uh, because…that’s…what…normal people do,” he answered, finally deciding to stare up at the ceiling. He put his hands on his hips and focused on a sprinkler above him and said, “Now, in modern times, we wear clothes to sleep, just in case we are woken up in the middle of the night and have to…go _do_ something. In public. Around people.”

God, this was awkward.

“But…your rooms are protected by your sky power,” he promptly exclaimed, and Stiles was slightly impressed that he’d figured out that the card he used also ran on electricity.

Instead of lingering on it, however, he said, “Yes, yes they are. But…” God, he didn’t have a decent excuse. So, he settled for an honest one. “…I am… _uncomfortable_ …with nudity. Most people are, actually. If I am romantically inclined towards the person, then, yes, it is acceptable, but we don’t really know each other, so…”

Silence. And then…

“Oh. I see.”

Stiles heard a rustle of the covers and looked over to see that Derek had pulled part of the comforter so that it covered his groin, and he locked eyes with Stiles and practically whispered, “People have been reaching for my hand for… _chili_ _ádes chr_ _ónia_.” He paused, fumbled for a moment, and then found the words in English. “Thousands…of years. I assumed when you reached for me, you were as the others. Trying to free me, to save me.” His voice drifted for a moment, and then he finished. “…To love me. As a soul mate would.”

His eyes darkened for the first time since he’d fallen off the pedestal and Stiles felt a stab of guilt. The legend; the story that said that the only one who could save him was his soul mate. Part of it had to be true, but Stiles didn’t want Derek to simply fall in love with him just because he’d saved him. That felt like…cheating.

He didn’t know how to say that, so instead he walked over to the bed and sat down next to him and said, “Well, since we are soul mates, how about we learn a few things about each other first? Uh, let me start,” Stiles suggested, and then said, “My favorite color is…green. It reminds me of home. Now…what’s _your_ favorite color?”

Derek’s brow furrowed, but he looked over at him and softly replied, “Amber. I like how it…” He paused for a moment, digging for the word, and then got out, “I like how it shimmers in the light.”

Stiles smiled.

“So…I’m okay with sharing the bed. But you need to put on pants.”

“Pants?”

He rolled his eyes. A little bit at a time. They’d conquer the stranger-in-a-strange-land issue a little bit at a time.

 _And, if we’re lucky_ , Stiles thought to himself as he pulled out the luxurious sleep pants that Lydia had bought for Derek, _Peter Hale just might be the solution to our problems._ The thought occurred to him, because he realized that if Peter was as well connected as Lydia _said_ he was, then he just might be able to get them to Greece. And find a home for Derek.

Feeling relieved as he settled under the covers next to Derek, their’ backs to each other, he turned out the lights.

They’d figure the rest out tomorrow.

 

 


	3. Walking Tour of Rome

**Chapter 3**

Stiles felt much more comfortable in the outfit that he’d chosen for that day as he walked down the Via dei Gracchi (which wasn’t much more than an alley with a fancy Italian name), Derek once more holding his hand. He’d tried to explain that they didn’t have to hold hands everywhere they went, but then Derek had given him that look with wide eyes, and he’d caved and reached out once more.

Their morning had certainly been eventful. Derek had never seen a shower before, though he was familiar with baths, and so Stiles had had to deal with him naked all over again as he set the water to the right temperature for him and showed him what was meant for washing his hair and what was meant for washing his body. And also having to remind him that nothing in the shower was edible, despite how good it might smell.

Watching him walk back into the hotel room in just a towel, dripping wet, had been his own personal kind of hell, and he’d ducked into the shower right after.

If his own shower took slightly longer than normal and he came out a bit more loose limbed than before…well, that was his own business.

Luckily, their breakfast had come without any issue and Derek had been pleased with all of the fruit, and had marveled over the flavor of pineapple, a fruit that he’d never had before. Of course, he’d eaten breakfast in just the towel. The man did not seem to like clothes.

Now, with both of them fully dressed and ready for the day, they were heading to meet Lydia and Peter for a late breakfast, early lunch at Il Matriciano.

He couldn’t even hope to afford the restaurant, but she had assured him that she would be footing the bill.

Stiles was pleased that he’d dressed a bit nicer. The few people that they had seen on the street had looked as if they had either just stepped out of a business magazine or were heading to a photo shoot. He self-consciously adjusted his sport coat with one hand and with his other hand, led Derek over to where Lydia and Peter were waiting for them, both of them with scones and coffee in front of them.

As they sat down, Derek slowly removed his fingers from Stiles’ grip, and he gave him an appreciative smile.

Lydia looked him over and said, “Why, Stiles. You look nice, today. I like the sport coat,” she added after a beat, with a small grin at the corner of her mouth, giving him an approving glance. “You two make quite the pair, right now, with the gray and blue.”

She gestured at their shirts, taking a small sip of her coffee.

He felt a small surge of pride at hearing those words from her. She was the one to prove oneself to when it came to fashion. Derek, of course, even though he was dressed down a bit from the evening before, still looked breathtakingly stunning in fitted jeans, boots, a dark blue button-up and a light gray sport coat that fit him like it had been tailored for him.

However, Peter then gave Stiles a once over, as well, and commented, “I approve. The color brings out your eyes,” he added, and Stiles rolled his eyes. The man lived for pushing his buttons.

“Lydia, thank you,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair, and then he glared at Peter and said, “Peter, I don’t care. You seem to take some sort of perverse pleasure in making me uncomfortable, and I am not going to rise to the bait right now because we need help.”

Peter gave him a wry smile and nodded.

“Fair enough. Now,” he took a sip of his own coffee, swallowed, and said, “I take it you two need my help?” Stiles nodded, and then the man glanced at his fiancé and then back at Stiles and remarked, “Lydia won’t give me the details, but I have a feeling that you’ll be more forthcoming, Stiles. If I am to do anything to help you two with your… _passport_ issues, as she explained it, then you need to give me something in return. I love you, sweetheart,” he directed towards his fiancé, “But I can’t go out on a limb without knowing what I’m about to risk the fall for. Even for you.”

She let out a long sigh and then gestured towards Stiles, and he knew that she was giving him permission to tell Peter what was really going on. Oh, thank god. He had to tell _some_ one, even if it was Peter, because it was too weird to _not_ tell someone. He leaned forward to start…but then took a furtive glance around them, remembering that they were in a public venue. And then he noticed it.

The place was entirely empty except for them.

“Uh…why are we the only ones here?” Stiles asked, and Lydia blushed, and Peter just smirked.

“They don’t actually open until three,” he explained, laying his arm across the back of chair and reaching over and tucking a strand of hair behind Lydia’s ear. “The owner owes me a favor or two, so I asked if we could use this location for a… _business_ meeting,” he finished smugly.

Dammit. Every time he thought he might actually like Peter, he went and pulled something like this, and it all disappeared. Derek seemed completely oblivious to the conversation, picking up the small cup of coffee placed in front of him with both hands and carefully bringing it to his mouth, sipping at it…and then he made a face and put it back down. Stiles smiled at that, but then turned his attention back to the man sitting across from and giving him a glare.

“Okay, here’s what happened: Yesterday, I arrived at the museum, took a look around on my own, and then met Lydia at the snake statue—”

“The _Laocoon_ ,” he interrupted him, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yes, that one, now would you please let me continue?” Peter nodded, so kept on going. “We met at the statue and then she took me on a tour of the museum, where I got my own personal, professional commentary and history on some of the more interesting pieces. Then, she took me to see the Apollo statue,” he said, licking his lips, feeling nervous. “We took a look at it, I got to know more history on genitals than I needed to know, and then I--”

“Excuse me,” Peter interrupted him a second time, “But where’s Derek during all of this? I’m assuming he was with you, at the time. He’s your boyfriend, after all,” he pointed out, taking another sip of his coffee. “And you two were with Lydia when we met at the restaurant. I inferred that you two were together all day, sightseeing. Romantic city, Rome…”

Stiles groaned and answered, “Well, yes and no, and not exactly about the boyfriend part, but let me finish and, wow, are you _seriously_ drinking this swill? Italian coffee is a joke, so, like, why are you even…” His voice trailed off and Lydia glared at him and he waved his hands and said, “Uh, but that’s beside the point. Okay. Where was I? Right, right. At the Apollo statue. Okay, so…statue…genitals…right! So, I went to take a closer look at the statue and saw where other people hand touched the statue’s hand.”

“The legend of the soulmate, yes, I know, Stiles.”

“Wait,” he said, taken aback. “You know about that legend? Lydia told me that only a handful of people in the art community know about…” His voice trailed off as Peter arched an eyebrow at him, looking annoyed, and that was when he remembered what the man’s job was. Right. Of course, he knew about it. “Right. Okay, then. Well,” Stiles finally got out, “I grabbed his hand with mine and turned to give Lydia my phone to take a picture…and then there wasn’t a statue there anymore.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

“I was holding the hand of the statue,” Stiles slowly said, waiting for the man to put the pieces together, but he still looked confused.

 Stiles let out a sound of frustration and finally exclaimed, “I brought the statue to life, Peter!” He gestured at Derek, who was now playing with his fork and knife, attempting to balance them on the glass in front of him. “Derek’s the statue! The statue is Derek! I am apparently a statue’s soulmate!”

No reaction.

“And the punchline of this joke is…what exactly?”

Stiles groaned and dropped his head to his arms on the table, and he heard Lydia softly say to her fiancé, “It’s not a joke, Peter. I was there. I _saw_ it happen! It was like something out of a movie, but…it actually _happened!_ ”

Peter looked skeptically at the three of them, as if he didn’t quite believe it…and then he stared long and hard at Derek.

Out of nowhere, he started speaking rapid Greek, and Derek looked up and answered him. Stiles watched as the two of them had an entire conversation and looked over towards Lydia for help, but she shook her head and said, “They’re going too fast, sorry,” and Stiles felt his anxiety rising even further. This was _not_ how he was expecting the morning to turn out.

Their conversation went on for a while, during which Stiles reached back over and grasped Derek’s hand. He was getting used to holding his hand and it almost felt weird when he _wasn’t_ holding it. Derek faltered for a moment when their fingers grasped each other, but then kept on conversing with Peter. It was obvious that he was more comfortable in his own language, despite knowing English, and Stiles just hoped that Peter wasn’t accusing him of trying to trick him or anything of the sort.

Finally, they stopped. And Peter looked first at Stiles, and then at Lydia.

In a guarded tone, he said, “Okay…I believe you. But only because I trust you, Lydia. You would never try to do something like this as a joke, and this is too…weird, for a lack of better term, to simply be an elaborate prank. Also,” he tilted his head in Derek’s direction, “He has just convinced me that he is definitively _not_ from this time.”

Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “What did you talk about?”, but then Derek shook his head and said, “It is not of importance,” and gently squeezed his hand.

He wasn’t particularly comfortable with that answer, but he brushed it off for the time being. All that really mattered was that Peter believed them and he was willing to help them.

Good enough.

Peter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest, and then said, “For now, you should continue with your usual plans. Give me a few days and I’ll get Derek a passport. I can probably get him an I.D. today. However, it will not be under the name Derek Tyler. He will take my last name. It will be easier to procure if he is family. He can be my nephew.” Stiles was about to protest, but Peter cut him off before he could, saying, “Stiles, I don’t need to hear it. You have no leverage in this. I have _all_ the leverage.” He paused to take another sip of coffee, and then said, “This will take quite a few…favors. But I can get it done.”

He stood up, straightened his suit coat, and then leaned over and pressed a light kiss to Lydia’s lips and then gave a cursory nod to him and Derek.

“Have a good day, gentlemen. I would suggest visiting St. Peter’s, say…around six?”

Stiles’ eyebrow shot up at that, and then he realized what Peter was saying. Okay, then. The would be at the basilica at six.

After he left, Stiles leaned forward and said to Lydia, “He didn’t give me a chance to say thank you, but if you could tell him--”

She brushed him off with a wave of her hand and interrupted, “Yes, I’ll tell him. Just…he’s taking a risk on this, Stiles. I’ve never asked him to do something like this before. I mean, I fell in love with him for who he _is_ , not for his job, his money, or his connections. Those were just the cherries on top of the proverbial sundae,” she said with a sigh. “He’s doing this for me…and for _you_ , believe it or not.”

Stiles snorted and squeezed Derek’s hand, who looked back at him with his wide eyes as he gently returned the gesture, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe they _were_ meant to meet.

“Why is he doing it for me?” he finally asked, and Lydia gave him a soft smile and replied, “You know, he really does like you, Stiles. You’re like the younger brother that he never had,” she admitted, tracing her fingernail through some spilled sugar next to her coffee cup. “Even though he trusts me and loves me…I think he’s mainly doing it for you.”

He was both flattered and confused by the admission, and looked back over at Derek, who gave him a smile, as well.

Unable to help himself, Stiles asked again, “Seriously, what did you and Peter talk about?”, but Derek just shook his head and said a second time, “It is not of importance,” and then unexpectedly lifted Stiles’ hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss across the back of his fingers.

Oh. That was…nice.

Lydia attempted to hide her smile of amusement by taking a sip of her coffee, but Stiles saw it and gave her a look, to which she swallowed and said, “What? I didn’t say anything.”

He snorted.

“Oh, you didn’t have to.”

She rolled her eyes, but then finished the rest of her coffee and then handed them both her raspberry scone and the one that Peter had left behind on his plate.

“Here. Take these.” They took them. “Now,” she added as she elegantly rose from her chair and adjusted her green, floral print dress. “I suggest that the two of you take the time to get to know each other.” She dug into her Chanel purse and pulled out a sheet of paper that had her signature elegant handwriting on it and said, “This is a list of places that you two should go to, today. Take your time, don’t rush. St. Peter’s Basilica is the last one,” she said with a smirk.

And with that, she left.

Stiles turned to Derek, still holding his hand, and said, “Well…looks like it’s just the two of us.”

Derek smiled.

“Yes. I am…” He paused, as if trying to find the right word or phrase, and then finally got out, “I am…looking forward to it.”

Stiles smiled back.

“Well, then,” he said, sliding out of the chair and bringing Derek with him, “Let’s get started on Lydia’s list. It’s probably a million times better than any itinerary I could have come up with,” he admitted, glancing over it quickly, noting that she had picked places that he hadn’t even _heard_ of. “First stop, the piazza.”

Derek gladly came along with him, but as they walked, Stiles checking street signs and referencing the map on his phone, making sure they were heading the right way, Derek slid his hand out of Stiles’ and instead, hooked his arm through his, drawing them closer together, their shoulders brushing against each other with every step. He was taken by surprise, but it was rather nice, so Stiles didn’t say a word, and just let Derek hold on a little tighter.

When they arrived at the piazza, Derek stared for a long time.

After a few moments, Stiles lead them both over to a bench, and Derek still stared at the buildings around them, his brow furrowed, as though he was deep in thought.

Finally, Stiles asked, “What are you thinking about?”

“It all looks familiar…but it is all wrong. I see parts of home here…but they don’t fit. They don’t belong,” he breathed out, sounding pained, and Stiles swallowed as he understood what he meant. The Romans had looted Greece and pretty much taken their culture and adapted it into their own. It was probably like seeing American skyscrapers in foreign countries, amidst pagodas and temples.

Stiles let out a shaky breath.

“Sorry. We’ll get you someplace that you’re familiar with, soon. I promise.”

Derek nodded.

Stiles was unsure what else to say, so he changed the subject entirely and asked, “So…how old are you? I mean, not counting the time you were a statue,” he quickly amended, and he was pleased to see Derek smile and let out an amused laugh at his question.

“I am twenty-seven.”

Stiles nodded and told him, “I’m twenty-three. So, four years age difference. I can work with that.” Derek smiled again, and so Stiles said, “What did you do when…you know…you were alive? Not that you were ever dead, I mean. I mean, not that you aren’t alive now. I mean--”

Derek put a finger to his lips, stopping his babbling, and answered softly, “I was a…what’s the word…I worked with animals. Wild ones.  Mainly…I don’t know the word. Like…dog. But bigger.”

“Wolves?” Stiles suggested, slightly joking, but then Derek’s eyes lit up and he nodded.

“Yes. Wolves. I helped to take care of them. Feed them. Train them.” He paused and then his eyes lit up as he stared at something across the Piazza, and Stiles looked and saw a father and son with a large dog on a leash, and Derek pointed and said, “Like that! But…” He put his hands wide. “Bigger. Much bigger. And they were gray and black.”

Stiles was taken aback. He had helped to train wolves? He didn’t even know that was a thing in ancient Greece. That was something he would have to ask Lydia about. He wanted to know more about it, and thought about asking another question, but then changed his mind and instead grabbed Derek’s hand again. He knew how it probably looked to other people: two men holding hands in public on a bench in a romantic part of the city…but he didn’t care.

In fact, he thought to himself as he leaned into Derek’s shoulder, he _really_ didn’t care.

They were quiet for a while, both of them looking everywhere but at each other, simply taking it in.

And then Derek asked, “What do you do? What is your job?”

Stiles wasn’t sure how to answer, so he answered honestly and said, “I’m a student. Well, I _was_ a student,” he hesitantly admitted. “I was studying history at a university back in the states,” he stated, and then saw Derek’s look of confusion at his words, and explained, “Back where I am from. It’s far from here. Other side of the ocean.” Derek nodded, so he continued. “I was studying, and a friend of mine died in an accident. Alison. She was a close friend. I realized, when it happened, I wanted to live for now. So, I stopped studying the past and decided to travel. So…I don’t work.”

Derek looked at him, his eyes remarkably bright and wise as he said, “Death is past. Life is now.”

Stiles gave him an indulgent smile and asked, “Who said that?”

Derek gave him an enigmatic smile.

“A friend of mine.”

He didn’t say much else, but that was okay. They enjoyed the silence. They would get to the rest of Lydia’s list later.

 


	4. Peter's Not as Awful as Stiles Remembered

**Chapter 4**

It was a little bit before six when they wandered into St. Peter’s Basilica after a long day of sightseeing. It had gone remarkably well, and they had both enjoyed it. Stiles had learned that Derek had grown up with a tutor and had learned not only Greek as a child, but two other languages as well, and had loved mathematics. Stiles had told Derek about the time that he and Scott had gotten hopelessly lost in the woods when they were sixteen and had to be rescued by Stiles’ dad, and that had made Derek burst out in laughter, a sight that would stick with Stiles forever.

The man was beautiful when he smiled.

Lunch had been at a bistro, where Derek tried a burger for the first time and practically inhaled it after his bite, and then later that afternoon he had ice cream for the first time. Now _that_ had been an amusing sight: him struggling to keep the cone upright as the vanilla dripped onto his fingers and he tried to keep it off his clothes.

Stiles had helped him, but at the same time had been _very_ preoccupied with other thoughts at the sight of him using fingers to wipe ice cream off his chin and then licking them.

They had seen some more remarkable historical sights, ones that were tucked away in otherwise normal parts of the city, and Stiles was grateful for the list that Lydia had given them, because it meant that they not only avoided all of the usual crowds and tourist traps, but also looked as if they belonged. Derek’s Italian was fluent, and his English started to come even easier to him, and he no longer faltered over finding words, speaking it fluidly, with no hesitation or hint of an accent.

Finally, they were at the basilica at the end of their own personal walking tour through Rome, and Stiles felt relaxed as they strolled through hand in hand, absently running his thumb over Derek’s.

Despite the looming uncertainty of what he was going to do with Derek, the day had been nice. Hell, it had been idyllic.

He almost didn’t want it to end.

But it had to.

He wasn’t going to be selfish just because they were supposedly soulmates. Sure, Derek seemed to get his sense of humor, despite the difference in time periods, and, sure, maybe Stiles adored the way Derek treated everyone he met as if he’d known them forever. And, well, okay, maybe the way that their hands kept on finding each other without even having to look caused something in Stiles’ chest to tighten and his heart to go a little bit faster…but none of that mattered.

Derek couldn’t go back to being a statue, so the best thing was to get him back to Greece, where he could live out his life as a citizen and eventually have a new life. He didn’t deserve to be tethered to a guy who had serious commitment issues and a crippling fear of failure, along with heavy feelings of guilt over his friend’s death.

And that’s why they were at the basilica, waiting for Peter to arrive.

Derek looked up at the ceiling and at the surrounding artwork and said, “It is nice…but it is not as beautiful as home. We had large temples. Beautiful. They were places of respect and worship. We didn’t put things in them. We kept them as monuments to our gods.”

Curious, Stiles asked, “Which one did you worship?”

Derek smiled.

“I worshipped two. Nyx and Apollo. Nyx did not have a temple.”

He paused and started to explain but Stiles interrupted him with, “Nyx rules the night, Apollo is god of the sun,” trying to impress him, but then Derek smiled and shook his head and corrected him with, “It’s not that simple. Nyx isn’t just goddess of the night, she guards over all those who venture into it, be they good or evil. She is mother of the goddess of the day, Hemera, and even Zeus stands in awe of her power. She is not good or evil. She just is. And Apollo is more than just a god of the sun. He is also god of all that tries to better itself in the light of day: music, poetry, art, archery, medicine…” He smiled and said, “I like the two sides.”

Stiles stared at him and saw a bright fire in Derek’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. Talking about what he loved brought out a whole new side of him…and Stiles liked it. A lot. He suddenly wished that they weren’t meeting Peter, just so he could spend the rest of the evening with him, unsullied, without any other memories of anyone else.

However, it was left as a fantasy when Peter appeared in their line of sight, standing in a shadowed corner of the church, easily the best dressed one in the entire basilica, once more wearing another Italian suit and a silver Rolex this time.

Ugh.

Time to bite the bullet.

They slowly approached him, and Stiles asked, “So…you have the I.D.?” and Peter nodded, handing them an envelope, answering, “I do. And a little something extra for the two of you,” he said with a smug smirk, and Stiles internally groaned, wondering what he’d done, certain he was about to have another reason to detest the man…and his jaw dropped as he saw what else was in the envelope.

“You…you-you…how did you…?”

Peter’s smirk softened to a genuine smile and said, “Don’t worry about it. Enjoy it and make some memories with my new nephew, here.”

He clapped Derek on the shoulder and shot him a grin, and Derek smiled back at him while Stiles stumbled over his words and then finally said, “This…this…it’s, it’s too much! I can’t, _we_ can’t…I can’t accept this!! You, you—you have to take it back! You have to!”

Peter gave him an aggrieved look, along with an exaggerated eyeroll, and then drawled, “You can, and you _will_. It didn’t cost me much, but I know it’ll make up for some of my past mistakes with my…attitude problem, as Lydia puts it. So, take it. And stop trying to give it back,” he added, pushing the envelope back towards Stiles, even as he tried to hand it back to him. “I’m not gonna take no for an answer.”

Finally, Stiles seemed to understand just how serious he was, so he tucked it inside his sport coat and then turned to Derek and explained, “Uh…we’re going to Greece tomorrow. You and me. We’ll be staying in the penthouse at the best hotel in Athens for four days, and then we head up to Ireland for a week, again in a penthouse, and then we go back to Beacon Hills, in the States…where you have a job waiting for you, as well as an apartment.”

Derek looked at him with wide eyes and then looked over at Peter and said, “You…you did this for us?”

“Well, mainly for _you_ , as per our conversation,” he reluctantly (and mysteriously) admitted, but then nodded and said, “But yes. I did it for both of you. I happen to believe in soulmates, and they don’t come along all that often in my experience.” He gave them an almost fond look…and then remarked, “Like Lydia and me. One in a billion chance…”

Stiles snorted, but just as he turned to walk away with Derek, he abruptly pivoted on his heel and swung around and wrapped Peter in a strong hug, both arms around his neck.

Pressing close and squeezing him tight, he whispered into his ear, “Thank you, Peter.”

He then whirled back before the man could react and grabbed Derek’s hand and they strolled out of the basilica, heading back to the hotel in the fading light of day, leaving Peter far behind them.

As they walked away, Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “I’m sorry, but I have to know…what did you and Peter talk about? Back at the café this morning? Does that have anything to do with…this?” He patted the pocket where the tickets and money were and then waited for an answer.

Derek was quiet for a long moment, and then finally said, “He asked me some questions about my family. I told him my father was the emperor, Demetrius, and my mother was from a foreign land and left when I was a child back to her homeland. She left me at a temple and meant to come back…but she never did.” He paused. “Peter asked me where she was from and I told him that my tutor told me that my mother, that she was from up north. From a tribe called the Caledoni. Peter called them Celts,” he remarked, and then said, “I was tutored by one of Aristocles’ students and raised by a childless couple in Athens. I met Leochares through my studies in art, and he said he was inspired by me, so I would sit for him for hours a day while he sculpted…and then, one day, I…I don’t know what happened, but I couldn’t move. And I _didn’t_ move until you touched my hand…”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to say, so they walked the rest of the way in silence, fingers locked together, Stiles wondering just what else the two of them had talked about. There had certainly been more questions than that, and he wanted to know the answers. But for now, he knew better than to push. Derek had a look in his eyes that he wasn’t sure he liked.

Before, he had been wide-eyed and marveled at everything, as if he was a three-year-old taking his first steps out into the world, but now there was a dark, almost brooding look in his eyes.

He was still just as beautiful as before, but now he seemed…dangerous.

Stiles brushed off the unsettling feeling as they walked back into their room, and instead took to picking up his clothes from around the room, getting their bags ready for their plane trip tomorrow. He still couldn’t believe that Peter had done that for them, but he had an uneasy feeling that there was another reason behind it, besides just goodwill.

He glanced at the papers again, tugging them from his pocket, and then noticed that address on the apartment that he’d given to Derek. He knew that address.

It was Peter’s old loft apartment.

It had been abandoned for years, but if Peter was going to be giving it to Derek, then it meant something. That place had been in the Hale family for a long time; he knew that much thanks to his dad, who was unfortunately all too familiar with the comings and goings of that family. There had been a horrible fire years ago, and Peter had been the only survivor.

Stiles ran his fingers over the edge of the paper and then slipped it back into the envelope.

He turned and said, “You’re okay with sharing the bed, again?”

Derek nodded.

Stiles then gave him a once over…and he froze. Derek had already removed his shoes and sport coat and untucked his shirt and had undone the top few buttons. He was standing there, barefooted, shirttails draping over his jeans with his chest hair peeking out, and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he clumsily tried to undo his cuffs.

He felt his mouth go dry.

Well…shit.

He didn’t know what it was, but that sight was infinitely more sexy than seeing him wearing only a towel and dripping with water. It was as if he was seeing a part of him that wasn’t meant to actually be stared at, only glimpsed from the corner of one’s eye.

Stiles licked his lips and put the envelope down on the dresser and found his feet taking him over to where Derek stood.

When he was only inches away, he said, “Here…lemme help you with that,” and reached out and caught one of his sleeves between his fingers. Completely un-self-consciously, Derek offered it to him, and Stiles had to breathe deeply to make sure that his hands didn’t shake as he undid the three buttons holding the cuff together.

As he started on the other one, he asked, trying to ease the mood that lingered in the air, “You said that you were tutored by a student of Aristocles. Who’s Aristocles?”

“He was a…philosopher,” he said carefully. “He had many ideas, which my tutor did not entirely agree with,” Derek added with a faint amused grin. “Instead of teaching me about lost cities, my tutor taught me of all the subjects: history, language, mathematics, sciences, the arts…I was partial to mathematics, but I enjoyed it all.”

“You keep on saying ‘your tutor’,” Stiles said, finishing up with the last cuff. “I’m assuming that he had a name?”

Derek nodded, but then ducked his head, as if embarrassed, and said in an odd tone, “Yes, he did, but I’m afraid when I say it, you will be…well, I don’t know the word for the emotion.” He paused, and then admitted with a tilt of his head, “He’s rather well known in your history.”

Stiles just grinned.

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not like I’m gonna know who it is. I failed philosophy.”

Derek let out a small laugh of amusement.

“Fine, then. His name was Aristotle.”

Stiles almost choked on air on his next intake of breath. Derek had been tutored by _Aristotle?_ Wait, but that wasn’t…Stiles did some quick math in his head and then realized, yep, that it was _entirely_ accurate to the timeline, but that meant…

“Hold up. You were tutored by Aristotle, but you said your tutor was a student of some guy named Aristocles. I may not remember much about my history, but I’m _pretty_ sure that Aristotle was a devout student of Plato, so something’s not lining up, here,” he protested, but Derek shook his head and said, “Plato was just the name he signed on documents. His given name was Aristocles,” and Stiles just about swallowed his tongue.

How the _hell_ was he soulmates with a man like, like…well, like Derek?

He goggled at him for a moment, and then realized that his fingers were lightly wrapped around Derek’s wrist from where he’d been undoing the cuffs, and he quickly pulled back as if he’d been stung, and joked, trying to make the mood light, “Lemme guess, you’re also the heir to the Grecian throne,” and Derek shook his head and smiled.

“No. I’m not actually Greek. At least, not according to Peter,” he admitted, and Stiles did a double take. He quickly explained, “I was adopted into the house of Demetrius after my mom left me in Apollo’s temple. They saw me as an omen, so they took me in. I don’t remember much about it…just that I loved the statues.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment, recognizing the look on his face, and then let out a sigh and said, “I lost my mom when I was nine. How…how old were you?”

“Eleven.”

They stood there for a long moment, neither of them saying anything, and then Derek thanked him for helping as he shrugged off the shirt, easily removed since the cuffs were loose, now in just his jeans, and then he gave Stiles a look. His eyes were more serious than Stiles had ever seen them, so he wasn’t too surprised when Derek reached up and brushed his fingers across Stiles’ forehead and across his temple, barely brushing into his hair.

“I…” He paused. Swallowed. “It’s very hard for me to not touch you,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, his hand stroking through and then settling on the back of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles didn’t know what to say. He let out a shaky breath and nodded and remarked, “Yeah, I, uh…I kinda noticed that,” and then reached up and put his hand over top of Derek’s. The angle was a bit odd, but he didn’t care. Stiles swallowed…and then said, “I, uh, I sorta feel the same way.”

Derek smiled.

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to his, and, god, it felt like…like a part of him had just slid into place after being gone for far too long. A soft sound escaped him as Derek pressed into him, their hips aligning just right as their mouths connected, over and over again, softly, both of them getting used to the taste of the other.

Derek tasted like…well, he tasted like himself. Like…like the vanilla ice cream from earlier, like the ice cream cone, and most overwhelming taste was _him_. He was a little bit overwhelmed, but soon enough, he sunk into it and then it was tongue, wet heat, and holy crap, his lower half was definitely showing some interest. He pulled back just enough to take a deep breath and then fell back into it, moving his hands up to Derek’s hair, holding him against him, while Derek’s hands slid over his hips, drawing him even closer.

The older man slowly maneuvered the two of them over to the bed, and the next thing Stiles knew, he was on his back with a _very_ attractive man on top of him who seemed determined to kiss the life out of him. Not that he was complaining, or anything.

It still boggled his mind that only two days ago, the man above him had been a statue.

He knew if he thought on it too long, he’d end up talking himself out of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

So, instead, he told his brain to shut up and let his body take over as Derek managed to get Stiles’ shirt off and then his hands went to his pants, and his brain effectively shut down as warm fingers wrapped around his…holy _shit._

Okay. They were doing this.

Thank god.

 


	5. The Apollo at Delphi

**Chapter 5**

Stiles woke up in his seat on the plane, and glanced over at Derek, who was still staring wide-eyed out the window, and Stiles smiled. The two of them had enjoyed their morning, waking up together and taking their time getting to breakfast.

They’d had a very athletic night and were practically starving by the time they got to the food that had been delivered to their room.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body. At first, all he felt was the soreness and he winced…but then he grinned as he remembered _why_ he was sore.

Okay, yeah. It was totally worth it.

As the memories of the night before came back to him, he reached over and gently pried Derek’s fingers from the armrest and slid his fingers between his. The first part of the plane trip had been interesting, to say the least. When Derek had seen the plane through the terminal’s windows, his eyes had gone wide and he’d looked over at Stiles in confusion, and Stiles had chuckled and explained to him as best he could that it was a machine that could fly and take them places very far away in a very short time.

The takeoff had been tense, with Derek closing his eyes and gripping the armrest so hard, that Stiles had thought that he just might rip it off.

The flight wasn’t particularly long, but Stiles had been worn out from their nighttime activities and had conked out almost immediately after takeoff in his cushy first-class seat. Now, he had all the time in the world to spend with the man and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. He could really do anything he wanted, he mused. Realizing his thoughts were about to take a road that was a bit too long, he stopped and turned to more fully face his seatmate.

“Hey, sorry for fallin’ asleep on you,” he said softly, and Derek’s head swiveled towards him. “What do you think of the view?”

Derek’s expression was a mixture of fear and awe as he replied, “It is…beautiful. But…” He swallowed. “Terrifying.” Stiles nodded and then Derek added, “We are above…the world. And, from what I see, it is round. Of course, my tutor thought that might be the case. But…it’s also much larger than we thought…”

His voice trailed off and Stiles watched as he looked back out the window, his hand squeezing his tightly. Yeah. It wasn’t too surprising that he reacted that way. Luckily, there were in first-class, and practically no one else was there, letting them enjoy the experience without any prying eyes. However, the flight attendant came by and asked them, “Is this his first time flying?” looking pointedly at Derek, and Stiles nodded, and then asked her for two waters in order to politely get rid of her, and she nodded and left. Stiles gripped Derek’s hand a bit more tightly as he felt the plane turn, certain that the motion would worry him, but Derek didn’t seem scared, his eyes bright as they came around a cloud bank…

And then he gasped.

“I…I know that mountain,” said Derek, pointing out the window. “That’s….that’s Olympus. The home of the gods.”

He leaned forward in his seat, as if not quite believing his eyes, and Stiles didn’t blame him for his reaction. He had grown up believing that Mount Olympus was the _literal_ home of the gods. To see it from above…well, it was most certainly disillusioning. He didn’t say anything, just simply waited.  Any second now, Derek would be upset and react badly, and Stiles braced himself for it. He knew that something this big would certainly change his world view…even though finding out the world was round seemed to have barely affected him.

Finally, he said, “It looks different from up here…so…small,” and Stiles nodded and said, “Yeah. When you’re up in the sky, everything looks small.”

He looked out the window with him, enjoying the moment.

About a minute later the flight attendant came back with their waters, and then less than ten minutes after that, the captain come over the loudspeaker and said they were coming in for their final approach, and Stiles silently explained to Derek that it meant that they were about to land.

As soon as they had landed, they went and retrieved their’ bags, Derek using one of Stiles’ extra ones. When they headed outside to get a cab, however, they stopped in their’ tracks when they saw a man with a placard that said, “HALE/STILINKSI”, and Stiles marveled for a minute that Peter had gone to all that trouble for them. He _really_ wanted to hate the man…but goddammit, if he wasn’t grateful for everything that he’d done for them, even if it was with unknown motives.

The driver drove them past several famous ruins on the way to their hotel and Derek’s eyes were wide with shock as he stared out the window at the crumbled buildings in the fading light of day, giving them an odd glow, as if they were still on fire.

God, that hadn’t even occurred to Stiles. Derek was seeing his home in ruins. He hadn’t known everything that had happened since he…well, his _statue_ , had been taken out of Greece.

The instant they were in the hotel, Derek sat on the edge of their king-sized bed and stared out of the large, panoramic view, that showed the city at night, all lit up, and Stiles wondered what was going on in his head as he unpacked their’ bags and put their’ things away.

He stood to side for a long moment, and then slowly approached, sitting down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Derek?” he said softly, not wanting to startle him, and he was taken aback when the man turned his head and he saw faint trails of wetness over his cheeks.

“It’s…it’s all gone, isn’t it…”

God, he didn’t know what to say to him. He squeezed Derek’s shoulder and his tongue shot out to wet his lips. How did one tell someone else that most of their civilization had fallen? That the thriving Grecian empire had been _so_ destroyed, that most of what was left intact was corrupted by the Roman Empire?

Stiles swallowed and said, “Not…not all of it, Derek. There are parts left behind.” He gestured in the direction of the window and explained, “There are a lot of places that are still, mostly, intact. I know there are a lot of things that are gone, but there’s some that are still there. Do you…do you want to see it? I mean,” he quickly backpedaled, “If you don’t, I completely understand, I just thought that maybe…maybe it might help you with some closure.”

He stopped talking and waited, wondering what Derek would say.

It was a long, tense silence.

And then…

“I’d like to see what I can. But,” he paused and then locked eyes with Stiles. “But I have to know something. Is…Is Apollo’s temple at Delphi…is it still there?”

Stiles swallowed.

“Not…exactly.”

Derek nodded and dropped his gaze down to his lap. Stiles waited for a long time, wondering what he would say. He didn’t say a thing. They sat there in silence for nearly fifteen minutes. He kept on thinking that maybe he should say something, but each time he opened his mouth, he closed it.

Finally, he said, “How about we get some rest? It’s been a long day,” and Derek nodded.

As they both got ready for bed, Derek started to talk, almost absentmindedly, as if forgetting Stiles was there.

“I…I know most of them are gone, all of the homes and most of the streets, but the temple of Apollo is where my…what’s the word. Not parents, but…”

“Guardians?” Stiles supplied, and Derek nodded.

“Yes, guardians,” he said fondly, pulling back the top sheet of the bed, already in pajama pants, shirtless as usual. “They used to take me there four times a year, once for the summer…what’s the word…solstice. Longest day,” he got out. “And once for the shortest day. We were always the only one there for that one, but it was my favorite.”

He paused a long moment, his voice going soft and nostalgic as he then said, “It took a day to get there, and we’d go and make offerings.” He sat down where he’d pulled back the sheet as he spoke. “It was one of my favorite places to visit. High on the mountain, overlooking the city and valley, blue and bronze around the top, bright white that shone in the sunlight. In the summer, people would sell food in the city, sell clothes and…” He struggled a moment, trying to find the word, and then said, “Jewelry. Crafts. Always filled with people…except when it was cold. It seemed more beautiful when it was cold, and the moon would rise early, almost touching the sun, no one in the temple but me and my guardians…”

Stiles found himself listening intently, realizing he was with the only person alive who knew what the temple had once looked like and how life had truly been back then.

“There and the Lyceum, another temple dedicated to Apollo. The two most precious places to me.” He looked back down at his hands and then asked, “The Lyceum was not as…impressive, but it was a second home. I did all of my learning there. It shined just as brightly, though.” He paused…and then glanced back up at him. “Does Aristotle’s school still stand?”

Stiles shrugged, not knowing what he was talking about.

“Honestly, I haven’t heard of that one, but I’m sure we can see what there is, Derek,” he said gently, settling next to him on top of the covers. “We can rent a car, make a list of all the places you want to see, and then we can go.”

He then reached over and brushed a strand of hair from Derek’s face and said, “If it’s too hard for you to see everything, we don’t have to,” but Derek immediately brushed his comment off with, “No, I have to. If I am to let go of my home, I need to know what has become of it.”

Stiles nodded and smiled as Derek’s hand came up and gripped his, his fingers fitting perfectly between his own, and he brought their’ hands down so that they were resting between them on the bed…and Stiles just marveled at the man before him. He was torn out of time and suddenly dropped into a future that was as alien to him as another planet would have been to Stiles, and he was handling it with a strength that just _astounded_ him. How they were soulmates, Stiles would never understand.

Tired, but still not quite ready to sleep, he asked, “Could you tell me more about this Lyceum place?”

Derek nodded.

“My guardians sent me there to learn, and Aristotle taught me in a way that was not accepted. Instead of one subject, I learned many, and when he saw how much I loved animals, wolves, learning about them and wanting to be around them, he asked for several to be brought to the temple as a gift to Apollo.”

Stiles was confused and couldn’t help but interject, “A gift? You don’t mean…sacrificed, do you?”

Derek chuckled and replied, “No, not at all. The Lyceum was also known as Lyceus, and better translates to your English as… _wolf-god._ They saw the animals as a sign of respect, but none were willing to tame them. Aristotle gave them to me and asked me to learn how and teach others.”

Stiles shook his head and said, “Wow, that is like… _super_ badass,” and when Derek gave him a confused look, he clarified, “It means awesome,” one of the few words he found that actually meant the same thing in several languages and Derek nodded.

“It was.”

Stiles smiled.

“Tell me more.”

And he did.

He didn’t know how late they stayed up, lying there on top of the covers with the lights off, him asking questions and Derek answering, but it was long enough that the next thing he knew, he was waking up just as the sun peeked over the horizon, streaming light directly into their’ room. Stiles was dimly aware that his arms were wrapped around Derek as he sprawled on top of him and that he should have been practically suffocating from the weight, but he was surprisingly comfortable.

Derek was still asleep, so he simply ran his fingers through the man’s hair, slightly jealous of how thick and soft it was. He shifted slightly and Derek let out a low sound, almost like a growl, and tightened his grip on Stiles’ waist and he chuckled. So, he liked to cuddle. Good to know.

After a minute or two, Derek finally woke up and they dragged themselves from the bed and accepted the knock on the door for the complimentary breakfast.

As they ate and dressed and took a slightly long shower together, something that Derek seemed to enjoy _quite_ a bit, they planned their day.

In the end, they were visiting two places for their first day. The Apollo at Delphi and The Lyceum, right there in Athens. They were heading to Delphi first, because of the long drive. A three-hour drive, to be exact, but it would be worth it, Stiles felt, just so that Derek could finally come to terms with what had happened.

When they rented a car, he grabbed a brochure, but not for directions. He knew he could trust the GPS on his phone to get them there.

Instead, he gave the brochure to Derek, and then immediately regretted it as the man would read a sentence out loud and then immediately correct it, telling Stiles the more accurate history, or that a temple that they thought worshipped one god had actually worshipped another god entirely. It went like that for most of the drive, but Stiles didn’t really mind, enjoying the sound of Derek’s voice and finding his criticism of famous and respected historians rather amusing.

When they arrived, however, Derek went quiet.

They parked down in the visitor parking, down in the lower town, and then made their’ way up to the ruins.

There really wasn’t much left.

A few crumbling columns and a large expanse of stone, and it almost physically hurt Stiles to see the look that washed over Derek’s face as he stared at it. There was a tourist group nearby with a tour guide, but they walked past them to the area that was designated as the entrance of the temple and Derek stopped.

He looked over to the mountains, and then looked back at Stiles.

“For you, it’s been thousands of years,” he said in a soft voice. “But for me…it almost feels like yesterday that I was here. And now it’s all…” He swept his hand out in front of him. “…Gone.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say.

He was about to say something when the tour group came over in their direction, and they heard the female tour guide say, “And an interesting fact is that there was a ceiling, a _naiskos_ , that covered the entire back half of the temple and--“

Derek suddenly spoke very loudly and cut her off with, “There was no _naiskos_ at this temple of Apollo,” and the woman looked taken aback, but just as she opened her mouth to keep going on with her memorized script, he continued and practically took over the tour as he said, “This was a temple to Apollo, the god of the _sun_ , and you think they had it hidden from the very thing that Apollo ruled over?” He pointed up at the clear sky above them. “No. It was left uncovered so that worshippers could feel the sun on their faces even when they stepped inside to worship and bring offerings.”

She brushed back her hair from her face and tried to protest.

“Well, if that _were_ true, which it is _not_ , it would make no sense, because rain would have worn away at the limestone that this temple was made from.” She turned back to the group, trying to regain control, saying, “Interesting fact, this was one of the very few temples that _was_ made from limestone, and--”

“The limestone was sealed with clear sand,” he interjected, looking upset. “It was sealed and protected from wind and water, in gold and blue clear sand.” He gestured towards the back of the temple and added, shaking the brochure in his hand, “Also, the statue was not covered in gold. It was cut from marble and left unmarked, and it had no walls around it.” He then turned and faced the front, his voice vibrating with energy as he proclaimed, “And the inner room was not meant only for the oracle, but for anyone who wished to worship in silence and send their own prayers to Apollo for blessings on their lives for the year to come.”

He wheeled back on them and Stiles stared in wonder as he became even more impassioned as he spoke, his eyes sparking and his chest starting to heave.

“This wasn’t some _shrine_ ,” he hissed out. “This was a place of joy and celebration on the longest day of the year, with families and friends joining together and showing their love for something that they _believed_ in…and a place of solemn remembrance when it was cold, and the sun only briefly shining in the sky before the moon would rise to overtake it…”

His voice trailed off, but the tour guide didn’t try to speak up and all of the people in the group stared at him, enraptured.

Derek then looked up at the sky and said softly, “This temple was a beacon, a refuge…a solace,” and an almost reverent feeling filled the space, not a single person daring to break the stillness.

Stiles felt a surge of warmth in his chest at knowing that the man was his, and, making the decision for both of them, he walked up and caught Derek’s hand in his, causing him to look back at him, and said, “C’mon. Let’s let these nice people finish their tour,” and Derek seemed to come out of a sort of daze, and he nodded and followed him.

As they walked away, Stiles couldn’t help but look over his shoulder and held back a laugh at seeing the tour guide struggle to pull the group back to her script. Derek was going to be a tough act to follow.

When they made it back to the car, once they were inside, Stiles asked, his fingers on the ignition, “Are you…okay?”

Slowly, Derek nodded.

“Yes, I…I will be.” He looked out the passenger’s side window back up at the temple and said simply, “I miss it, Stiles.”

He dropped his hand from the keys and put it over Derek’s hand, which was resting on his thigh.

“I know.”

They sat there for a long moment, and then Derek nodded at him and said in a voice just above a whisper, “Let’s go.”

Stiles nodded and started the car. It was going to be a long drive.

 

 


	6. Over-Enthusiastic Archaeologists Make Interesting Conversationalists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY!!! I had 90% of this chapter done for over a week, but I've been doing round trips every other day (five hours total each day, a total of about 15 hours spent in a car this week alone), and only just topped it off and posted it! Enjoy!!

**Chapter 6**

They made it back to Athens and headed for the Lyceum. It was small and tucked out of the way…and there was practically nothing there. It was even worse than Apollo’s temple, stuck back behind some old apartment complexes, and Stiles looked over at Derek, trying to gauge his reaction, but he was expressionless as he walked up to the rope that guarded the edge.

Unlike at Delphi, this one was an active archaeological site, and there was a woman who looked about their’ age working over in one section, who smiled as they approached.

Removing her large-brimmed hat, she waved at them and said, “Don’t get many visitors around here this time of year! How’re you two doing today?”

Stiles replied, “Pretty good,” and then asked, “Hey, why is this still an active site?” and the woman smiled and answered, as she pulled herself up and walked over towards them, “Because, unlike practically everything else in Greece, the Lyceum wasn’t discovered until 1996, and it was all by accident.”

She gestured with an arm and added with a bright smile, her brown ponytail bobbing behind her jauntily, “We’re still learning about this place! A lot of historians thought that it had been destroyed completely, or that it had never even existed.”

Derek looked up at that.

“Never existed?” he asked, and even Stiles was curious.

“Well,” she said, drawing the word into two syllables, putting her hands on her hips, “The idea that Aristotle started a liberal arts university in 334 BC seemed a bit too farfetched for some scholars, and since there wasn’t any actual _physical_ proof of it, only written records, for the longest time a lot of them thought it might not have existed and was just propaganda to give him a better reputation.”

She sounded out of breath, so Stiles inquired, “Uh, what all have you found here? Anything recently stand out?”

She grinned.

“Oh, yeah! Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t tell anyone this, let alone tourists, until I’ve run it by a few other people, but I think I’ve made some great finds in the past few weeks and I’m kinda killin’ for someone to talk to about it! C’mere,” she motioned for them to follow her, so they did, and she ducked back under the rope and dropped into a small section and yelled back up at them, “I’m pretty sure that they had a holding area for livestock or wild animals! I’ve never seen anything like it at a temple, but since it was Aristotle, you never know!”

She sounded amused at the fact, letting out a small laugh, and then she yelled, “I’m Elise, by the way! What are your names?”

“Stiles, and this is Derek,” he yelled back down to her, pointing at Derek.

She grinned up at them and said, “You two are a very cute couple! I think it’s nice that you came here to this little gem in the middle of Athens. Like I said, we don’t get a lot of visitors, back here. Not as well known, not in normal foot traffic, and it’s in an odd place, right in the backyard of everyday folks.”

She sounded American, and Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “Uh, where are you from? You’re American, right?”

Elise gave him a thumbs up and said, “Yep! Sure am! Beacon Hills, California, born and raised!”

Stiles stilled.

Had she just said…?

Incredulous, he said, “Are you kidding me? That’s where _I’m_ from!” and she looked up at him, her smile wide and said, “No shit! I was born and raised there! Went to Beacon Hills High School, graduated back in ’07. How about you?”

“Uh, 2017. But…there’s no _way_ that you’re ten years older than me,” he said, looking back down at her, not quite believing that she was in her mid-thirties, but she shrugged and replied, “Sorry, but I am. Thirty-three and proud!”

She then turned and picked something up and lifted it up to eye level and said, before Stiles could ask her any more questions, “This is one of the finds I’ve made,” and Stiles strained to get a look, crouching down, and Derek joined him, both of them trying to see what she held in her hand. “It’s a piece of carved rock, and I’m pretty sure it’s from the original frieze, due to the type of rock and the angles used in the carving, but the symbol on it is what is most interesting. It’s not Hellenistic.”

Stiles looked at Derek, but even he didn’t seem to recognize it, so Stiles asked, “Uh, what is it?”

Elise smiled and arched an eyebrow as she said, “It’s a triskelion. And that’s not a symbol associated with Hellene or Roman cultures. In fact, it’s _Celtic_. Which makes _no_ sense, because the Celts were practically taken over by Roman rule during that time period. A few of the tribes surrendered to the Romans, being servants and such, but most either stayed or fled  across the ocean and through the mountains of Europe. All that was left of them at that time was a small group in modern day Scotland and Ireland, called the Caledoni, and they had _no_ relations whatsoever with the Greeks.”

Stiles froze and slowly stood back up, as did Derek. Peter had gotten them tickets to go to Ireland after their trip in Greece and they had just come across a Celtic symbol that was carved onto a building that Derek had been taught in in ancient Greece? And then the word Caledoni was brought up, just like Derek’s mother? Okay, something was _definitely_ going on, and apparently Peter had already figured it out and had only planned their trip for them so that they would find out all on their own, instead of just simply _telling_ them, like any sane person would do.

Derek asked, “What…what does that mean?”

Elise kept on smiling as she explained, “It _means_ , that Aristotle possibly had a secret reason for founding his school _here_ , in _this_ building. The triskelion is a common symbol in Celtic myths but is most associated with druids and the werewolf legend deep in Celtic history. Now,” she added, putting it down and hoisting herself back out of the ground, standing up next to them. “Over here,” she pointed, “Is where I found the holding pens…but they’re too small for normal farm animals. But for an animal that, let’s say, prefers cave-like protection? It’s _ideal._ ” She grinned and was almost bouncing on her toes as she said, “And, considering that the philosopher was also obsessed with the study of animals of all kinds, I am almost _positive_ that he had _wolves_ here!”

Elise then let out a small squeal, acting more like a middle schooler than a grown woman and jumped once and waved her hands as if she was in a Broadway show.

“Do you have _any idea_ how big this is going to be for my career?” she exclaimed, running over to the corner that she’d just gestured at. “I think Aristotle wasn’t just a scientist, philosopher, and teacher…I think he was also studying about werewolf mythology! But not as myth…he was studying it as a _science._ ”

Stiles was now confused, but Derek seemed amused as they watched her drop down into the corner where she said the pens had once been.

“You see, there’s practically nothing left because as much as the Romans didn’t like the Hellenistic culture, they detested the Celts even _more_ , and it would make sense why they would try to erase all _trace_ of a Celtic-Greek temple in almost the _center_ of Athens!”

Stiles glanced at Derek, trying to figure out his reaction to her words, but he wasn’t paying attention, and had wandered over to another part of the ruins.

He looked penseive, again, and Stiles knew what he was thinking about.

However, Elise was still excited and kept on rattling on, saying, as she walked over to another section, “And over here I found some signs of a goddess being worshipped inside the temple. Which isn’t all that uncommon,” she admitted, “But it _is_ uncommon to find these particular symbols in a temple that was meant for the god of the sun in the _same room_ as where the statue of Apollo would have been. Normally,” she rambled on, “The background god or goddess has a smaller sanctum. It is _never_ shared with the main god. However, this particular temple was dedicated to Apollo Lyceus, which translates to--”

“The wolf god,” Derek said, interrupting her, but she didn’t seem upset.

Instead, she nodded and said, “So, this seems to support my theory that Aristotle was studying wolves, specifically werewolves, because the goddess symbols I found were for Nyx, who was not only just the primordial goddess of night that even _Zeus_ feared…but she was also goddess of the moon. And the piece I found is amazing!”

She reached down and held up yet another piece of rock, so Stiles leaned a bit from where he was and took a closer look and then saw what she was talking about. It looked like the phases of the moon were carved into it, though mostly worn down from time…but in each moon was a carved symbol of the triskelion. Faint, but it was there.

Derek looked up at that and said, “Apollo and Nyx are two sides of the same coin,” and Elise lit up and vigorously nodded.

“Yes, exactly! This is my running theory,” she gasped out, climbing back up to where they were on the lawn surrounding the Lyceum. She gestured wide over the massive space and said, “Historians know that the temple of Apollo was built first, before Aristotle ever founded the Lyceum. _But_ all the evidence that I have found of Nyx lines up with when it was first built, and not when the philosopher founded his school. So, this means that this _wasn’t_ just for one god; it was designed to worship _both._ At the same time! That’s never been found before! And the implications of the triskelions alongside Greek mythology…!”

She grinned at both of them, but Stiles slowly started to piece some of what she said together into a coherent thought.

“Wait…you mean this was for Apollo and Nyx, and _because_ of that, Aristotle chose it as the place to put his school here? To study werewolves?”

Elise nodded.

“Yes. Mind you, my theory is _very_ farfetched and really barely holds up under the circumstantial evidence and I will most likely be laughed out of my career, but…this is what I think it was for.” She slid her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts and said with a shrug, “I’ve been trying to prove for years that ancient cultures weren’t as divided as we thought. A lot of myths and legends in different cultures line up, _especially_ when it comes to wolf iconography. I think it’s fully possible that some of the Celtic tribes made it through the Roman occupied territory and sought refuge in Greece.”

She wasn’t as exuberant as before, almost too still as she then said, “My boyfriend has Irish blood in him, and I was always obsessed with symbology, so I fell into studying Celtic mythology while I was getting a degree in Ancient Greek Studies…and then I heard about the Apollo Lyceum, and that they were going to stop excavating here because they hadn’t found a single thing that made it seem any different from any other Apollo temple, besides the fact that it was a school. I found out about the Lyceum in my studies and I wanted to prove them wrong,” she finished, shoving her hands a bit deeper into her pockets, looking down at the ground.

Derek reached over and put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a soft smile.

He then said, “I don’t think that you are wrong.”

Elise looked up at that and a small smile snuck onto the corner of her face.

“You really think I’m right?”

He nodded.

“I do. But,” he added, walking all the way over to the far side, pointing down at one of the rooms, “You have this one labeled wrong. It wasn’t a room of worship. It was a room of preparation,” he explained. “This is where they would mark followers of Apollo and Nyx with ink, with the symbol you call a triskelion. The three parts of the symbol represented the sun, the moon, and the truth.”

Elise gave him a look, but walked over to where he stood, Stiles following as well, and took a look at where he was pointing.

She looked skeptical as she said, “The Hellenistic culture at that time didn’t have tattooing…” She paused for a long moment, and then said, “But the Celtic culture _did._ There’s no sign of inking anywhere, so why would you think that?”

Derek just gave her a look and said, without a trace of humor, “I was a student here.”

Stiles floundered at hearing him spill the truth and was fully prepared to laugh it off as  joke, but instead of having to make something up, he was surprised when Elise looked back at Derek and then said, “It’s impossible, I know…but some part of me feels that you’re telling the truth.”

There was a long pause, and then she asked in a slightly teasing tone, “Okay, then, Derek. If you were a student, then perhaps you can help me,” and she walked around to the other side and said, “Here is where we believe the entrance was, but there has been a debate over how many columns there were. I say there were six, but my superiors say that there were only four. How many?”

Derek smiled.

“There were six. The entrance was balanced with three and three.” He pointed. “Also, the stairs going up into the temple started back here,” he took several steps back, “And each step was deep and long, easy to sit on for hours at a time, reading or studying.”

Elise gave him a look and nodded, appearing thoughtful as she made her way over to him and said, “Just beyond here we theorize that there was a small structure of some kind. At least, that’s what other researchers have theorized, but _I_ think their assessment was wrong. I think that what they found was actually a massively large area petrified wood. I say that there was a very large tree, right here.”

She moved and stood about ten feet from the front and Derek nodded.

“So?”

Derek tilted his head and said, “I remember that tree…it was different from any tree I’d ever seen. It was huge…with so many branches…” He walked over and raised his hand to an invisible tree trunk and said with a nostalgic tone, “I used to climb it and read for hours. He used to get mad at me for climbing it, but he never told me to come down until I was ready to…”

Elise stared at him strangely, while Stiles just smiled fondly.

She then said, “My colleagues are certain that I am wrong. And I still don’t have proof, but if there _was_ a tree here, there would be petrified remnants of some sort of root system. Most of this area was covered, protected from the elements, so…there’s a chance. However, I don’t have permission to dig beyond the specified ruins.”

She arched an eyebrow at them and then turned and walked back to the dig site, dropping over the edge.

Stiles looked over at Derek, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at the spot where the tree had once stood with a curious look on his face.

He slowly approached him and tugged on his sleeve and said, “Hey, what’s with that look?”

Derek didn’t respond at first, but then slowly dragged out, “I think…I think I’m remembering something about the tree. Something that my teacher told me about it.” He motioned with his hand and said, “He called it something, a word I didn’t know because…”

He swallowed and continued to stare.

And then he said just one word.

“Nemeton.”

At that, Elise looked up from her work, her eyes going wide, and she asked in a shaking voice, “Did…did you just say…nemeton?”

Derek nodded.

She jumped up out of the dig site and said with a tone of incredulity, “I am going out on a limb, here, even though I’m still on the fence about you being from...well, back then, but that word isn’t one that anyone normally knows. It’s _specifically_ from Celtic mythology…and you’re telling me that the tree that used to be here…was a _nemeton_?”

Stiles, even more confused, swallowed and licked his lips and asked, “Uh…what’s a nemeton?”

“A sacred space of Celtic religion. They were used as places to worship, and they were sometimes temples, but, most commonly, they were large trees set above sacred sites…” Elise’s voice drifted, and then she said, her eyes going wide, “Oh my god…this explains why the temple was _built_ here.”

She then scrambled away from them, nearly tripping over her own feet as she went back down into the dig site and pulled out a notebook with half-ripped pages covered in sprawling, barely legible handwriting, and she flipped through it for a moment and then her entire body stilled, almost comically so.

“I…I’ve been researching this separately, but…it all fits together.”

She looked up at both of them, and then gestured down at her notes and explained, “I discovered, when I started to look into Celtic mythology, that wherever the Celts settled, they would find places of great power, usually the central points of ley lines, and establish nemetons, the same way that the Greeks made temples…” She tapped her fingers on the pages and said, vehemently, “It all…it all fits together! It makes sense, now, why there was a temple here! There was a crossing of ley lines, and the tree was on the site. And Aristotle obviously had a friend, or a colleague, or, or…or a student who had lineage that went back to the original Celts, and so, they built the temple _here_ …”

Elise’s voice trailed off, and Stiles glanced at her and questioned, “But what…what does that have to do with…all of this?”

She gave them both a faint smile and handed them her notebook as she said, “Take a look. I’ve been researching for years, as you can see, and the crossovers between Ancient Hellenistic culture and Celtic culture is obscure, at best, but it’s there. I theorize that if it hadn’t been for the Romans, these two cultures would have eventually merged and created a pathway between magical beliefs and scientific study, an entirely _new_ way of observing and categorizing the world…”

Stiles glanced over the notebook, and then balked at a sketch of a tree that she had on one of the pages.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, pointing at the drawing, and she said, “Oh, that’s a copy of a depiction of a nemeton from Celtic culture,” and Stiles couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He licked his lips and said, “I’ve seen that tree, before. There’s one just like it in the woods around Beacon Hills.”

Elise looked at him, agape, and said, “Wait, what? I grew up in Beacon Hills and never saw _any_ thing like that!”, and Stiles immediately retorted, with a slight roll of his eyes, “Well, you wouldn’t have unless you’ve gotten lost in the Beacon Hills’ woods, before. Twice.” Derek arched an eyebrow at him, and he said, “Don’t ask about the second time. It’s embarrassing. But the point is,” he quickly rushed, “I’ve _seen_ it. I ran across it both times, but I can never remember where it is. It’s this massive tree that doesn’t quite match any of the other trees around it, which is why I remember it!”

He handed the notebook over to Derek and he looked it over and nodded in agreement.

“This is the tree from outside the temple.” He flipped the page over and said, “And your writings are mostly correct.” He pointed to a sentence. “Aristotle was the founder, but he was not the only teacher. He had many other teachers who came to the temple, all of them experts in different studies. I was particularly drawn to the wolves that he kept here.”

Elise grinned at that and exclaimed, “I _knew_ it! I mean, the temple was called the Apollo _Lyceus_ , and that is the only time that Apollo is ever referred to by that particular title in any record of his temples! If that isn’t a dead giveaway as to what he was studying, I don’t know what else is!”

Derek gave her a soft, fond smile, and then said, “He studied them to understand their….what’s the word… _pack_ behavior? Their family units were unlike any he had ever seen before in the wild.”

She returned his smile and then gladly took back the notebook as he handed it back to her.

Elise then said, “You know…all of this is strange. Everything that we’ve just talked about, the fact that you and I,” she gestured to Stiles, “Are both from Beacon Hills and there’s a nemeton in Beacon Hills…I mean, we barely know each other, but there are too many coincidences. Fate, magic, kismet, karma…call it what you want, but I think that we were meant to meet.” She gave both of them a look…and then softly added in Derek’s direction, “You could be putting me on, for all I know, but something tells me that you’re not. So, for now, I think we should part ways. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other, again.”

And with that, she dropped back down into the dig, her notebook tucked under her arm, and walked across to the far corner, not even glancing back at them.

Stiles stared for a moment…and then looked back at Derek.

His eyes were dark.

 

 


	7. Stiles Is In Love...and Love Makes You Stupid

**Chapter 7**

Still standing next to the ruins, Stiles looked at Derek and couldn’t help himself from asking that question that had been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they’d arrived there.

“Does this have anything to do with what you talked about with Peter?”

Derek’s eyes widened slightly, but that was all that Stiles needed to know that he was on to something. He looked down at his hands and neither of them said a word, and then he looked back up…and they were both taken off guard when a teenager across the site, who was standing next to two other teens, yelled out, “Yeah, that’s the hot guy that my brother just texted me a picture of! He’s the one who corrected that tour guide!” The kid then shouted over to them, waving a hand in the air, “Hey! Can we get a picture?”, but Stiles grabbed Derek by the arm and lead him quickly out of the site, back to the main road.

It took him a moment to orient where they were, but then he confidently picked a direction and took Derek with him.

After several long minutes of silence, Stiles finally had the courage to ask his question a second time.

“Derek…did any of what happened back there have to do with your conversation with Peter?” and this time Derek answered him.

“Yes.”

Only one word, and he could tell that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of him. Already, Stiles was missing the wide-eyed and fascinated man-child that had first emerged and wasn’t sure how to feel about the version of him that was at his side, at the moment.

Derek wasn’t looking around, he was instead shifting his glances between his feet and the path in front of them, obviously trying to keep from looking Stiles in the eye. Personally, after all that had happened and how intimate they had already become, Stiles felt that he deserved more than cold silence…but he wouldn’t push it. He had the impression that if he did, he just might get more than he bargained for, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that just yet.

Instead, they walked in silence the rest of the way to the hotel, where Derek stripped down to just his boxer briefs and sat on top of the bed, looking out the window.

Stiles, not sure what to do, grabbed the silver bucket from the table and said, “I’m gonna go get some ice,” to which he received no reply.

Fine then.

Feeling distracted and agitated, he fumbled with the key card as he put it in his pocket and then left the room in something less than a huff, but more than a resigned manner, grateful that the ice was down at the other end of the hall. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number that he thought he would never dial.

Peter’s.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four—

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, Peter,” he let out in a sigh. “It’s me.”

There was a long pause, and then… _“Well, well, well. Stiles Stilinski calling me up. Is the world coming to an end?”,_ and Stiles rolled his eyes and silently counted to ten to keep himself from hanging up the phone, and then replied, “No, not so much. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m calling you for help. I need to know everything that you and Derek talked about the other morning. Everything.”

 _“Oooh, no can do, amico,”_ he drawled, sounding genuinely sorry. _“That is strictly between him and me…and will_ only _be divulged should he decide to share that information with you. As close as you two are,”_ he added in an amused and innuendo-filled tone, _“I’m surprised that you haven’t already talked about it…”_

It was taking all of his effort not to hang up on him, but he refrained, and instead said, “We found the Lyceum.”

Again, silence on the other end of the line.

Finally, he remarked, _“Good for you. I suspect that you found some interesting pieces of information there. Elise Kelvin worked with Lydia at the beginning of her doctorate program, and I have kept a close eye on her career ever since. Such_ fascinating _ideas and theories coming from that bright young woman. And to think that she’s from Beacon Hills, too…”_

His voice drifted and Stiles wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the man.

Instead, he snarled out, “Look, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, leading us on some wild goose chase, or treasure hunt, or whatever messed-up, demented plot that you thought up, but I will _burn_ those tickets you gave me unless you tell me what the _hell_ is going on!” He took a gasping breath and then plowed on, throwing the bucket on the floor. “Peter, this man was a _statue_ and now he’s _human_ , and he is in a country that is barely recognizable to him because of centuries of abuse because _you_ gave us tickets! You, you, you played me! Derek is _miserable,_ and won’t tell me what’s going on, and I feel like…like…”

He paused and took another breath, his head feeling tight, the air feeling thin, his lungs shrinking…oh, god, he was having a panic attack.

“Oh god…can’t…can’t breathe…”

Unexpectedly, Peter said in a slightly worried tone, _“Stiles, you’re having a panic attack. You need to take a long, slow breath and go find a corner to sit in. Do it. Now.”_  Without even thinking about it, he did as Peter asked him and took a long, slow breath and tucked himself down next to the ice box, and then the older man said into his ear, _“Keep breathing, count it: four counts in, five counts out. Do it until you feel your breathing even out…”_

Again, he did as he asked. Four in, five out. Four in, five out.

He didn’t know how long he sat there just counting breaths, but it was long enough that he felt one of his feet starting to numb from the awkward angle that he had his legs folded into. He’d had panic attacks before, right after Allison had died, but he thought that they were far behind him. Apparently not.

As he got control of his breathing, he said into the phone, “Th…thanks,” and Peter replied, _“Don’t mention it.”_

There was a long pause…and then Stiles said in a low voice, threatening him as he got back up to his feet, “This doesn’t mean that you got out of it, Peter. I’m still mad. Hell, I’m beyond mad…I’m _pissed off!_ You can’t…” He took a breath. “You can’t play games like this. You _know_ you can’t!”

Peter chuckled.

 _“Oh, but I can. And I will. It may seem like I’m the villain in this story of yours…but trust me. I’m not.”_ He let out another soft laugh and then said, _“This is the only way for Derek, and_ you _, to understand what is going on. You have to put it together the same way that I did. One piece at a time. Thanks for calling.”_

And he hung up. Stiles stared at his phone in his hand and wanted to throw it across the hall in anger, but he kept himself from doing so, and instead fumed in silence.

He kicked the ice bucket and it careened into the corner that he’d just been sitting in, making too much noise as the metal clanged against the base of the ice machine and the wall, and he glared at it angrily.

Stiles knew that he was acting like a child having a fit, but his anger went deeper than that. He was beyond angry: he was tired. And, as if he’d been pricked by a needle, all of the anger rushed out of him and Stiles simply felt tired. Reluctantly, he walked over and picked up the metal container and then filled it with ice.

As he walked back to the room, he silently told himself that he wouldn’t ask any more questions; no more pushing, no more prodding. He would just let Derek take his time.

When he walked in, he closed the door softly behind him and went and put the ice onto the dresser.

Derek still sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window, and Stiles held back the urge to simply go and wrap himself around him and instead slowly approached him, one step at a time. When he was about a foot away from him, he stopped. He shoved his hands into his pockets and gave the older man a soft look.

Softly, but sincerely, he said, “I’m sorry. That was…unfair of me. I shouldn’t have been so...” He licked his lips. “I shouldn’t have been such a jerk. Can you forgive me?”

Derek finally looked up at him and something in his expression caused Stiles’ heart to clench.

“Yes.”

One word, but it was enough.

Feeling slightly better, he went and sat down next to him, entwining their fingers together on top of the comforter. Derek didn’t try to pull his hand away, which was a good sign. They sat there for a long time, neither of them saying a word. Stiles looked out the window at the view that the two of them shared. It was late afternoon, and the light that lingered was turning into golden hour as it spread across the buildings that were laid out in front of them.

And then Derek said, “I… _want_ to tell you, Stiles. I do. But not yet.”

He nodded.

“Okay. Fair enough.”

Derek squeezed his hand tightly…and then he leaned over and gently placed his lips on top of his. Stiles let out a soft sigh of relief at the pressure and returned the kiss; chaste, close lipped, but it was sweet, and exactly what both of them needed at that moment.

He pulled back for a moment, and then was taken aback as Derek leaned back in, kissing him again, this time with more passion. Lips touching soon turned into tongues exploring, and then next thing he knew, Stiles was on his back with Derek above him, who was eagerly running his hands up under his shirt, lifting and stripping it off him, and Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to complain as the older man immediately dropped his lips to his chest and started to take liberties with his body.

Better than this first, second, or third times, and he didn’t think he would ever tire of Derek looking at him in that way, either.

They stripped each other down the same way that they had over the past few nights, and Stiles arched up into him when Derek’s lips made their way to his thighs. His fingers wrapped around his hips, easily holding him down as he wreaked havoc on Stiles’ nerves.

Yeah…this was definitely better than talking.

\--

The next morning, neither of them bothered to drag themselves from the covers. Entangled, skin touching, with early morning light spilling across the foot of the bed, softly nestled together, breathing each other in…it was almost easy to forget everything that had happened the day before, and Stiles didn’t want to move.

Derek’s head rested just under his chin, his hand low on his waist, fingertips lightly tracing along his hip.

Stiles basked in the warmth, his own fingers absently running up and down Derek’s spine, pausing every so often to press into a dip along his back, silently marveling at all the strength that he could feel coiled under his skin. Neither of them said a word.

He tilted his head so that he could look out the window, and then made a silent decision that they weren’t going anywhere that day. They were going to stay in and do nothing. After the emotional upheaval that was the day before, they both deserved the day off. They both deserved having a day of no decisions, no bad memories, and no obligations. Heck, at the rate they were going, they would have plenty of new, good memories to overwrite the old ones, he thought to himself, smirking at the thought.

Derek had surprised him last night with changing things up and, boy howdy, had they _enjoyed_ it.

Stiles’ smirk stretched even wider.

Derek shifted slightly and said into Stiles’ shoulder, “Do you need to get up?” and Stiles shook his head.

“No. In fact,” he added with a soft smile, looking down and catching Derek’s eye, “I was thinking that we could stay in. All day. No going out, no sightseeing, and _definitely_ no ruins. What do you think?”

He smiled back.

“I would like that.”

Stiles grinned. He then leaned down a bit and caught the man’s lips with his own, and they lazily made out for a while, enjoying each other to their hearts' content, both of them basking in the fact that they had nowhere they needed to go. The sun moved across the covers and then Derek’s stomach growled, and they broke their kiss apart on a laugh, and Stiles couldn’t help but say, “So, we should probably eat,” and Derek rolled his eyes.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart, but before Stiles got up, he simply stared as Derek stood, the sunlight hitting his side and showing off every piece of his glorious body.

It probably made him seem shallow, but Stiles loved that the man was beautiful on the inside _and_ the outside. People like that were exceedingly rare, he knew from experience, and knowing that had snagged himself a soulmate as stunning as him…well, it made his head spin in disbelief. God, what had he done to deserve him?

Instead of letting his mind take him down that particularly dark path, he brushed off the thought and said to himself, _Shut up and just accept it, Stilinski,_ and went ahead and followed him out of bed, tugging on Derek’s hand and dragging him to the shower, where they took a long, _very_ pleasant soak, thoroughly cleaning each other from head to toe…as well as other places. When they finally got out, they shrugged into the lush, terrycloth bathrobes that were provided and called for room service, where they got a late breakfast (it was after one) and Stiles got to watch Derek have pancakes and bacon for the first time. It was quite a sight.

Stiles tried to hold in a laugh when he saw syrup drip onto Derek’s chin. Derek didn’t seem to notice, too intent on taking another bite of his pancakes.

“These are delicious,” he got out between bites, barely swallowing one before taking another. Stiles finally gave into the urge and reached across and ran a finger along Derek’s jaw and said, “You got syrup on your face,” and then brought the finger back to his own mouth and licked it.

Derek looked up at him, surprised.

“What…?”

Stiles chuckled.

“Gimme a second,” he said, and leaned forward across the small table, and then ran a tongue along the stubbled chin, catching the remnants of the syrup, and Derek let out a small gasp. Exactly the reaction he was hoping for. “Don’t worry,” he muttered into his neck, “I’ll clean you up,” and he proceeded to take his time running his tongue and lips all up and down the man’s neck, even after cleaning up the maple syrup, enjoying all the small gasps and sounds that came from Derek’s mouth.

Not too long after that, they found themselves back in bed, robes off, and Stiles was on the receiving end of a _very_ enthusiastic blow job.

Okay, so, yeah. Staying in had been a good idea.

Two hours later, both of them thoroughly exhausted and debauched, they lay once more in bed, panting, this time the sheets much more wrinkled and needing as much a cleaning as the two of them did. Currently, Stiles was lying in the wet spot. It would have bothered him, but he knew that they would want to try out the jacuzzi tub, next, so he didn’t mind as much.

As they lay there, still trying to catch their breath, Derek asked, “Why were you gone so long last night? Did I really make you that angry?”

Stiles shook his head, swallowed, took another deep breath, and answered, not really thinking, most of the logical processing centers of his brain shut down, “No, it wasn’t you I was angry at, Der…it’s Peter. I called him, yelled at him, and he just…gah, he just pissed me off even more!” He raised a hand and flopped it violently back against the bed and added, “He’s the most irritating man I’ve ever met! It’s like, like…he pretends to be all _helpful **,**_ but all he ever has are _agendas!_ ”

Derek raised himself up on one arm, so that he was on his side, facing him, and he said, his breath even, “You talked to Peter.”

Stiles nodded, closing his eyes, wondering how hot the jets could get.

“You asked him about what he and I talked about, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. In fact, the tone in his voice was almost chilly, and Stiles opened his eyes and looked over at Derek and was taken aback by what he saw. Derek’s eyes were the stormiest he’d ever seen them. They normally looked like a mixture between hazel and green, but now they were a steely grayish gold.

Before Stiles could get out a word, Derek sat the rest of the way up and turned his back on him, saying in a low, accusing tone, “You know I didn’t want to talk about it, and you went behind my back and asked Peter.”

Stiles floundered, literally and figuratively, trying to find the right words as he also tried to untangle himself from the sheet which had wound itself like a serpent around his legs.

“Hey, I—he didn’t, he didn’t tell me anything!”, he managed to get out, but Derek ignored him, standing up and heading towards the bathroom. But Stiles stumbled out of the bed and followed after him, saying, “Derek, please! I, I was frustrated, I was angry, and I thought that it was _his_ fault that—that you weren’t talking about it! Please, don’t…”

He reached out and his fingers had just barely brushed Derek’s shoulder when Derek suddenly whirled on him and turned and shoved him against the wall and hissed, “Don’t. Touch me.”

He then disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, while Stiles mentally berated himself, _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ and thumped his head back into the wall and then slumped down to the floor, still naked, and dropped his head into his hands.

As per usual, he’d fucked it up.

Great.

Just great.

 


	8. It Takes Two to Fuck It Up...And Three to Fix It

**Chapter 8**

Derek spent the rest of the afternoon giving him single word answers, while Stiles then finally realized that it was hopeless. He gave up trying to talk, and simply kept himself occupied. He pulled out his laptop from his bag and spent the early evening researching anything and everything he could on nemetons and on where Peter had given them tickets to in Ireland.

What he found was… _less_ than helpful, to say the least.

Lots of stuff on nemetons, actually, but practically nothing in regard to modern-day nemetons or anything whatsoever to do with Ancient Celtic ruins.

In fact, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure why Peter had given them the tickets. It was to a small airport in the northern part of Ireland that didn’t have a lot of, well, tourist type sites. Most of what was left was just rocks and ruins, same as Greece, but a lot less of the land was developed. It was far more protected up there than it was where they were.

He dug through a few more sites, trying to get away from the travel websites, but in terms of scholarly articles, there wasn’t much to be found.

Feeling frustrated, he leaned back in his chair and lifted a hand to his hair, running his fingers through it.

He let out an annoyed sigh, and Derek looked up from where he sat on the bed, trying to figure out the remote and the movie channels. Stiles sent him an apologetic look and went back to his laptop, ignoring the sounds of badly dubbed Greek television in the background. He looked back on the airport that Peter had them flying into. Belfast.

It was well-known enough, but the place that he had them staying was a high-end Air B&B out in the middle of nowhere, and that threw Stiles for a loop.

Peter was upscale hotels and lavish suites, even for people that he knew. He had a crap-ton of money and liked to spend it, so why was he putting them up in an Air B&B, even though it was fairly expensive and nice? It didn’t make any sense…unless there was something important about the area.

He was tempted to dig into it further, but the silence in the room was getting even more oppressive with each passing minute, and one of them needed to make the first move.

Letting out another sigh, Stiles got up and walked back over to the bed.

“Uh…hey.” _Brilliant start_ , he snorted in his head, but pressed on anyway. “Look, about earlier…you were right. I shouldn’t have called Peter.” At that, Derek looked up at him, and Stiles took that as a good sign, so he kept on talking. “I…I know that there’s stuff that you two talked about, and it _does_ frustrate me that you won’t tell me about it,” he admitted, “But I need to respect your boundaries. And I didn’t. Even before you told me that you wanted to tell me but weren’t ready, I _knew_ that you weren’t ready. You didn’t have to say anything, but I knew. And I called Peter anyway. That was wrong of me.”

Derek’s sharp, skeptical gaze softened at his words, and he slowly nodded.

Finally, he said in a voice just above a whisper, “Yes. It was…But I wasn’t any better.” He swallowed and looked down. “I should not have spoken to you that way.” He looked back up. “We were both wrong.” They stared for a long time, and then Derek asked, “Can you forgive me?”

Immediately, Stiles fell to the bed beside him and reached over and put a hand over both of his and nodded vehemently.

“Yes, Derek, of course I can! And I forgive you, you know that,” he fumbled out, reaching out with his other hand and running his fingers through the older man’s hair. Derek smiled, and Stiles smiled right back at him, and added, “I was looking at the tickets to Ireland. How about I call Peter to change them so we can go there first thing tomorrow? Leave behind some of the bad memories…”

Derek’s smile widened.

“I’d like that.”

Stiles nodded.

“Yeah…I hoped that you might.”

They sat there for a moment and then Stiles leaned in and stole a kiss from his lips. As he pulled back, Derek smiled.

God, he would never get used to that smile; it only made him even more attractive. Unable to help himself, Stiles leaned back in and pressed his lips back to his, savoring the warmth and tenderness from the kiss, silently praying that he didn’t do anything else to cock it all up.

When he pulled back, he said, “Well, we’ve wasted most of the day. You wanna go out for dinner, or eat in?” and Derek replied with a soft smile, “Eat in. I need to make it up to you,” and then his smile turned feral and Stiles grinned. Oh, yeah. Their’ evening had just taken a _very_ nice turn.

\--

The next morning, they were only slightly rushed as they got onto the plane (Peter had switched the tickets for them without any issues), having taken a bit of extra time to themselves in the shower that morning. Perhaps they needed to start taking separate showers, Stiles mused to himself as the plane took off, heading northeast.

They passed over mountains and then hit ocean for a brief while, and then they hit _green._ Stiles was used to green because he’d grown up in Beacon Hills, but this…this was _green_ green.

He’d never seen color so rich, and as the plane came in for a landing, the gray of the runway sliced through the countryside like a sword of a giant laid down on its side and half grown over. Luckily, the landing was smooth, and Derek had been fine during the entire flight, but had still enjoyed himself as he’d stared out the window the whole time and enjoyed the view. During the entire flight they’d held hands, only letting go when absolutely necessary.

Getting off the plane, Derek tugged at Stiles’ hand, his footsteps picking up, not looking anywhere near as upset as he was when they’d been in Greece.

He was almost giddy as they made their’ way outside to catch an Uber to the Air B&B that Peter had arranged for them. They had landed mid-morning and had plenty of time to go and see a few places after they settled in, and Derek seemed excited at the prospect.

In fact, as the car pulled away, his expression was almost the opposite of what it was when they’d landed in Athens, a constant smile at the corner of his mouth as they drove past green fields and spectacularly clear skies. Most of the houses were older, and there were quite a few stone ones that looked as if they hadn’t changed in centuries. But they were still too recent for anything related to when Derek had left it…but that didn’t seem to matter.

When they got out of the car at the small, lovely home that they were renting for the next few nights, Derek turned to Stiles.

“Not that much has changed,” he said with a smile. “It’s all still…here.”

Stiles smiled.

After dropping their stuff off, he pulled up an online brochure and checked out the information on the surrounding area. Peter had e-mailed him a couple of days ago and sent him some information on a few places that they should visit. Again, all about subterfuge and reading between the lines.

They rented a car and headed for a small historical site just outside of Armagh, called Navan Fort. He’d shown a couple of pictures to Derek, and he’d gotten very excited, his languages tripping over each other as he first babbled out in English, then Greek, some Italian, and then some other language that Stiles couldn’t even begin to place. He smiled over at him but forced himself to pay close attention to where he was driving. _Other side of the road_ , he reminded himself.

They got to the fort without any problems, and as soon as he’d parked, Derek surged from the car. Stiles laughed and followed after him and managed to snag his hand as they walked into the tourist center. Derek stared wide-eyed at the pictures and ran his fingers lightly over top of the glass protecting the artifacts.

“I know this,” he said softly, looking down at the glass case and then back up at the rest of the center, and Stiles squeezed his hand and replied, “Good. You going to correct these historians, too?”

Derek grinned and shook his head.

“Not this time.”

They wandered through the building, and then Derek insisted that they go back outside. As they walked out, Derek suddenly went still, his eyes focused on something in the distance. Stiles looked in the direction that he was staring and saw that he was looking at a hill surrounded by trees. Stiles remembered the hill from the information that Peter had sent him. It was the actual Navan Fort. Unlike what the name said, it was not actually a fort and was a ceremonial and religious site for ancient Celts and Druids, and it had been the supposed site of crowning ancient kings.

Derek then took a few steps forward and whispered, “Emain macha…I…I never thought I’d see it again,” and Stiles stared at him. Derek then said, “I…I feel like I’ve barely been gone. I just barely remember it, but it’s the same.” He began to walk to it, so Stiles grabbed his hand and followed him, more than okay with being the one who wasn’t in charge.

They approached the circle, and Derek reached out and touched his hand to the bark of the nearest tree.

“I remember when it was small. I remember when we planted them,” he said, letting go of Stiles’ hand and walking further into the trees that surrounded the hill in a circle. “I remember my mother bringing me here and showing me the trees…they were barely as tall as me when I was a child,” he mused out loud, his fingers reaching up and ghosting over another tree.

Stiles stayed silent and just watched him.

And watched.

Whatever significance this place had for him, it lit up Derek’s eyes as he ventured towards the top of the hill, his long legs taking him up to the crest fairly quickly.

Stiles took his time following him, just happy to see the man looking alive again, the darkness gone from his eyes as he stood on top of the mound, looking out over the surrounding countryside. Now that Stiles saw him standing there, he was struck by how much he looked like he belonged there.

it wasn’t too hard to imagine him being surrounded by men and women in robes, handing him a crown.

He kept his distance for a while, until he saw faint tear trails on Derek’s cheeks, and then walked up to him and wrapped him in a hug from behind and said softly into his ear, “Why are you crying?” and Derek shook his head and said, “I just…I miss her.”

His mom.

“I miss her so much…”

Stiles nodded and hugged him a bit tighter and said, “I understand. It hurts,” and Derek’s hands came up and covered his. They stood there for a long time, Stiles silently marveling at the sight. It was one hell of a view.

As they both drank in the feeling, Stiles finally whispered, “We should probably go,” but Derek held him fast and shook his head.

“No. Not yet,” he murmured and gently pulled away from Stiles’ grasp and walked out just far enough so that he was on the opposite side they came up from. “I want to stay for a bit longer. I have…I have memories, here, Stiles. So many memories…” His voice drifted, and then he said, putting his hands in his pockets, “The longer I stand here, the more they come back. I was…I was a kid, but I _remember_ …I’m remembering things I haven’t thought of in a long time.”

He let out a shaky breath and Stiles didn’t know what to say, so he waited for Derek to finish.

“It’s like…like I’m finally breathing. The longer I stand here, the more, the more…” He let out a bright shot of laughter and then turned and looked at Stiles, the bright afternoon sun catching the greens and golds in his eyes, and he laughed as he said, “It doesn’t hurt, Stiles! It…it’s like I’m finally home…”

Stiles smiled back at him; his worry, which had been a ball of lead in his stomach, ever since Athens, finally dissipating at the brightness of Derek’s smile.

In a shaky, but eager voice, he said, “I remember more than just her; I remember my family…my mother, my father, my sisters…I had sisters! I had an older sister and two younger ones.” He took his hands from his pockets and gestured around them, exclaiming, “We came here to be together! I remember, Stiles…I remember!”

His whole body seemed to be filled with energy as he jogged around the top of the hill, looking out in every direction, his eyes never lingering longer than a second or two.

Like a child, he flung his arms out to the side and smiled, broadly, and it took Stiles’ breath away.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, just watching him, but it was long enough that the light started to tinge the clouds a faint bronzed orange.

There weren’t many people there at that time, so he was taken off guard when someone said over his shoulder, “It _is_ a beautiful sight,” and he turned sharply to see a woman in her seventies standing a few feet from him, her hands tucked into a brown and green hounds-tooth cardigan. She walked up to him and offered her hand and introduced herself in a soft Irish accent, “Karen O’Sullivan, docent of this here historical site,” and Stiles shook her hand and replied, “Stiles. And yes, it’s gorgeous,” and she smiled.

“What brings you to Navan Fort?” she asked politely, pulling her hand back and putting it in her pocket.

Stiles shrugged and admitted, “A friend of ours paid for the trip.”

The docent let out a low whistle.

“That’s a generous friend! Any other reason besi’s that?”

He looked back over his shoulder at Derek, who was seemingly oblivious to anything around him, just taking it all in, and he smiled and said, “Actually, yeah. My…” He hesitated, and then finally said, “My boyfriend has old family ties to this area. Grew up here, actually,” he added, running a hand through his hair, “But he hasn’t been here since he was a kid.”

Karen gave him a fond smile and then nodded in Derek’s direction and said, “If he grew up here, I jus’ might know ‘im,” to which Stiles quickly replied, “Doubt it. They weren’t here very long.”

She nodded.

Feeling slightly awkward, Stiles pointed over his shoulder and said, “I, I should get back to him. He tends to lose track of time unless I’m there to pull him back in,” and moved to leave, but she gave him a look and he stopped. She wanted to say something, he could tell.

She did.

“What do you know about Navan Fort, Stiles?”

“Not much.”

She smiled and started explaining in her soft, Irish lilt, “It’s a unique place, Navan Fort, is. Not actually a fort, you know; it’s a translation from the original old Irish, but it doesn’t quite translate right.” She gestured towards the trees and said, “Another interesting fact is that they can’t quite tell how old the trees are around here. According to science, they shouldn’t be any more than a few hundred years old…but the trees seem to grow much slower than any other of their kind. Some think they might be a couple thousand,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in, but then winked at him, and he smiled.

Unable to help himself, he asked, “Why do they think they’re so old?”

Karen gave him a secretive look and said, “Because of how deep their roots go.” There was a long pause and then she laughed. “But don’t listen to the ol’ wives’ tales! Honestly, I think it’s jus’ a bunch o’ scientists who don’t know what they’re doin’,” she said with a cheeky grin, and Stiles smiled right back at her.

He looked back at Derek, who was walking back to him, and said, “You’re probably right,” and then walked over to Derek and grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and asked, “You ready to go?”

He nodded.

“For now. Can we come back tomorrow?”

Stiles nodded back.

“Of course.”

He thanked Karen, and then the two of them hiked back to the car. The entire time, the smile never left Derek’s face and Stiles felt a lightness in his chest that replaced the ball of lead that had been in his stomach the day before. Seeing Derek this happy…well, he wanted to keep him that way for as long as he could.

They drove back to the rental and Derek collapsed on the bed while Stiles heated up an easy dinner. The owners had very kindly stocked the fridge with fresh ingredients, but tv meals were easiest for both of them, as they were both exhausted and fighting a slight time change. Not much of one, but it was enough that it was finally catching up to both of them, and Stiles knew that he couldn’t trust himself around sharp objects when he started to get tired.

He gently shook Derek awake and they ate in silence at the small table in the corner of the kitchen.

Derek then broke the silence with, “I haven’t thought about my childhood in a long time. Those memories…” He paused and looked out the window that faced directly onto the coast. “…I almost forgot that I had them,” he softly admitted, and Stiles reached across and grabbed his hand.

“Hey, that’s okay. You still have them. That’s a _good_ thing,” he encouraged, and Derek smiled and nodded, though still looking wistful.

“Yeah…a good thing.”

He squeezed his hand and Stiles smiled back at him.

One day at a time.

 


	9. Family Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that this took so long! I have been inundated with LIFE at the moment, and it's just been...hard. Been really, really hard to write, recently. Thank you for waiting! :)

****

**Chapter 9**

The two of them didn’t do anything that night, just laid in each other’s arms until they fell asleep, and when Stiles woke up, he realized that it was the best sleep he’d had since the whole ordeal had started. Feeling refreshed, he turned in the covers and looked over at Derek, who was wrapped around him, as per usual, and he smiled. He had finally brought him home. To his _real_ home.

Of course, they wouldn’t be staying there, as they were headed back to Beacon Hills after their trip, but still. It felt good to bring Derek someplace where the memories weren’t as fresh, and a had a faint hint of nostalgia, instead of pain.

Stiles thought back on the day before, relishing in the memories that they had made, that he had seen Derek smile for so long, and he lightly ran his fingers through the man’s hair. It was thick and soft and felt like cowl of a predatory animal. As he practically petted him, taking comfort in the closeness that the two of them shared so easily, he took the time to think about what the two of them would do that day, besides going back to Navan Fort.

There were a few other historical sites that Derek might like, but he seemed utterly enthralled with the place, and since it seemed to be bringing back so many good memories for him, Stiles decided that it couldn’t hurt to go back.

Anything to see Derek smile that wide once again.

He thought on how it had come to that moment so quickly. Just days ago, the man in bed with him was a statue, stuck there because of the skill of one sculptor, and now…now he was alive and breathing and living and was his _soul_ mate. Yeah, so the two of them hadn’t actually talked about that last part. In fact, Stiles had just been avoiding the phrase entirely because, honestly, it didn’t seem that important in the scheme of things and what was going on.

He felt like he was just the spark that had brought the man back to life, and, just like before, it didn’t seem fair that they were destined to be together just because Stiles had saved him. It felt like the biggest cheat to him; love was a choice and it was work and it wasn’t _supposed_ to be this easy.

Oddly enough, Stiles liked that about relationships. He enjoyed putting the work into them, to make them work _just_ right, and knowing that he was this gorgeous man’s soulmate felt like the biggest copout.

He stared at Derek a little while longer, still marveling at how gorgeous the man was, inside _and_ out. And at how easy it was to love him…

…and how much that scared him.

Just as he felt his thoughts start to go maudlin, Derek shifted in his arms and his eyes slowly blinked open. He looked up at Stiles and smiled and said, “Morning,” in a sleepy voice, and then leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips, which he couldn’t help but lean into, sliding his fingers down to the man’s jaw, enjoying the soft sigh that escaped Derek’s lips as he did so.

Okay, so maybe he could be okay with the soulmate thing, he mused to himself as they tumbled into an early morning makeout session.

Eventually, they got out of bed and got ready for the day, and as they were about to get into the car, Stiles put his hand on the roof and turned to Derek and said, “Hey…if it’s okay, can we talk about what you and Peter talked about at some point today? I mean,” he quickly amended, not wanting to upset him, “If you don’t want to, I completely understand, but it would be nice to have an idea of what Peter is doing. I feel like he’s singling you out for some reason and I just want to know why so I can help you…”

He waited for Derek to answer…and let out a sigh of relief when he nodded and said, “Tonight. We can talk about it tonight,” and they got into the car.

\--

Back at Navan Fort, Derek did some more exploring, heading out beyond the trees on the far side, and Stiles could feel his wonder from where he stood just to the side of one of the trees, watching as he approached a large boulder about twenty yards from the trees, reaching out a hand and tracing his fingers over it.

Stiles’ smile fell when he saw Derek sink to his knees and press his palm directly against it, his eyes falling closed.

He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed and then carefully approached him.

Just as his hand touched Derek’s shoulder, his eyes opened and he said in a low tone, “The markings are gone,” and Stiles softly asked, “What markings?” and Derek let out a long sigh as he answered, “This is where we buried my father…”

Oh. He didn’t know what to say to that.

Luckily, he didn’t have to say anything, as Derek kept on talking.

“It was a wolf attack,” he said in a grim tone, “He was horribly injured, his neck almost torn apart, but even with our healers, we couldn’t save him. We brought him here, to see if the power of the circle could bring him back to us, but nothing happened.” He took a shuddering breath. “I was there when he…when he died…”

He took another deep breath.

“I was only nine.”

The two of them were silent for a long time, Derek running his hand over the stone, tracing symbols that were no longer there, while Stiles stood behind him, hands tucked into his pockets, unsure of what to say. In spite of the somber mood, the sun was bright, a light breeze was in the air, and the green spread for miles around them. It was a gorgeous day.

Stiles stayed silent, taking in the view, trying to think of what Derek was going through. It had to be a mixture of pain and joy at being back home, knowing that everyone you loved and cared about had died centuries before, but everything else was nearly the same. He could tell that the grief he felt here was different from the grief that he’d felt back in Greece. It was more personal and emotional. Back in Greece, he’d been angry, but accepting. Here…here he was nostalgic, but the pain seemed to be worse, like a newly opened wound that needed to heal properly.

It was obvious to Stiles that Derek hadn’t let himself think of his family while he’d spent his formative years in Greece. He’d kept it at bay, hidden behind a wall of stoicism that kept him together, but now Stiles could see that it hadn’t been a stone wall, but one made of sticks that he’d never dared to approach, and now it fell at the slightest touch.

Softly, he said, “Derek…”

He looked up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Sorry,” Derek apologized, “I just…I never really said goodbye to them. To my family. I thought…I thought that I would see them again,” he softly admitted. “When my mother took me with her, she told me that she would come back with them, and so we just…left. And then…” He suddenly stopped talking and looked down at the ground and then back up to the stone and said, “He’s the only one I ever got the chance to say goodbye to.” He put his hand back on the rock. “I don’t even remember his name, but I remember he taught me how to catch fish with my hands. He taught me how to start a fire. He taught me about the stars.”

Stiles still didn’t know what to say.

Finding the words, finally, he asked, “Can you tell me about your family?”

Derek nodded.

“Yeah. My mom’s name was Talia, my dad’s name was...” He strained, trying to remember and then shook his head and said, “I can’t remember. But I had an older sister, Laura, and two younger sisters, Cora and Ris.” His fingers brushed against the stone again. “Mom taught us about the woods. She taught us about where we came from and where we go when we die.” He then shrugged as he said, “We did everything together, but then dad died, the legions came, and mom got scared. I was the only boy, so she took me first. It took us weeks to cross the water and go through the mountains. She left me at the temple and said that she would come back with my sisters, and that we would all be together again…but she never came back…”

The air between them felt stretched, and Stiles didn’t know how he knew, but he _knew_ that whatever Peter had said to Derek, it had something to do with his family. It was an instinct that was reinforced when he saw the same look cross Derek’s face as before, when they had been in the café with Peter and Lydia. Yes. It had something to do with his family.

Stiles reached down and squeezed his shoulder, again, and Derek’s hand came up and their fingers tangled.

“You wanna keep looking around?” he suggested, gesturing with his chin back towards the main building. “There’s a lot in there we haven’t seen, and who knows. Maybe there’s something left of your family history in there. How about we go take a look and find out?”

Derek slowly stood and nodded.

“That seems like a good idea,” he said, dropping his hand so that their hands now swayed between the two of them as they started walking back to the building. “I would like to see if there’s anything left,” he admitted softly, and Stiles nodded.

“Like I said, you never know.”

They walked back inside, and the first thing Stiles noticed was the woman from the day before. Same hair and smile, but a different cardigan this time: dark blue wool with over sized black buttons that looked as if they would fall off with just one more tug of the worn material. She also had the same amused look in her eye as she approached them.

“I see you two are back,” she said with a smile, her eyes twinkling. “What you lookin’ at today?”

Stiles shrugged and pointed at Derek, who had wandered over to one of the small exhibits, and said, “I’m just following him. Like I said, he’s from here and kinda wants to get as much of the history as possible.”

She smiled and nodded, and then glanced over at Derek and then looked back at Stiles and said, “If he wants t’ know about his kin, then you might wanna look o’er there,” she pointed, “An’ I’d start with the Kell line, as i’s the oldest, and then follow it down t’ the Hales…”

Stiles’ eyes went wide at that, and he said, “Did…did you just say _Hale?_ ” and she nodded, again.

“Oh, they’re one of the oldest families in this area! Kell line goes back to the Caledoni tribes, and the Hale line came soon after the Romans left; an offshoot from one of the Kell daughters, if my memory serves me right…which it usually does.” She paused and tucked her hands in her pocket and said, “Some of the Hales left and went to the States, but a few of them are still here. Is he related to the Hales?”

Stiles dimly nodded, looking back at Derek, his mind wrapping around what she had just told him. The Hales were from Ireland. And they went back to the Caledoni tribes…

Holy shit.

Derek really _was_ a Hale.

Being as polite as he could, he nodded a quick thank you and then excused himself and went back to Derek’s side, where he was poring over some old stone that had carvings on them, tucked firmly inside yet another glass case. Before he could say a word, however, Derek looked up at him and spoke in a soft, excited tone.

“Stiles, I know these stones! They…they were marker stones for the path to the hill,” he said with a soft smile, looking back down at them. “It says here the translation is ‘ _trail of grief’_ , but they translated it wrong,” he said in a firm tone. “The context…it really means, _‘path of relief’_. The two words are very alike, but when this symbol is used,” he pointed at the symbol written on the placard right in front of them, “In conjunction with _this_ one,” he pointed at the other, “Then it means an upward movement. Trail is path, which changes the last word. Relief.”

Stiles stared, silently impressed and overwhelmed by a desire to kiss him right then and there, but he controlled himself and instead reached down and squeezed Derek’s free hand and said, “Hey, I found out something new about you.”

Derek looked back at him, tearing his gaze away from the display.

“What?”

Stiles smiled.

“I’m pretty sure that you really _are_ a Hale,” he informed him, and Derek’s expression only looked mildly surprised…and that was when Stiles knew. Derek had known all along. Ever since Rome.

Before Derek could say a word, however, Stiles quickly said, “But let’s get back to the tour, see what else we can find out,” and tugged him in the direction of a small theater with benches on the far side of the building, where they were showing a documentary on the history of Navan Fort.

He knew better than to press him about it in a public place. They could talk later. For now, Stiles shoved down the surge of anger that had leapt up into the back of his throat at figuring out what Derek had been hiding from him the entire time, and instead tried to focus on the film in front of him. Was he resentful that Peter had known since they’d met? Yes. But, at the same time, he wondered how Peter had known. He must look like someone in the family, Stiles finally concluded. Peter had probably looked at him and just known.

Again, Stiles felt a strange sensation in his throat, but he brushed it off.

Later.

They could talk about it _later._

Even as the movie went on, Derek never removed his fingers from Stiles’…not that he was complaining, he thought to himself as the lights came back up and they walked back into the main part of the small museum. Holding onto Derek’s hand was what had started this whole thing, after all, and it felt like the right thing to do.

Derek seemed even more distracted, however, as they wandered into another room, his eyes flitting over the display cases, as if trying to find something in particular.

Curious, Stiles asked, “Hey…you looking for something in particular?”

Derek hummed and nodded, but didn’t answer, instead just squeezing Stiles’ hand tighter as he dragged him towards another case, his eyes firmly trained on whatever was inside of it. He then let go of him and brought his fingers to the glass and lightly tapped them on top as he said, “This…this is what I was looking for,” and Stiles pressed his body up against his shoulder, trying to avoid another person, and looked down at what Derek was pointing at.

Inside the case was a set of tools left behind, each piece labeled and with an explanation of how they were used.

Derek seemed focused on very large arrowhead that was shaped slightly differently than the others. Stiles glanced at the placard that was next to it.

“… _Found buried just outside the Navan circle, in the grave of a druidic leader from early 300’s BC, the shape of this arrowhead indicates that it was used for long range hunting, most likely of large prey animals, such as elk, which has long since died out in Ireland. This implies that the man buried here was not just a spiritual leader, but also a hunter for his clan.”_

Okay, so it was an arrowhead…why was Derek so fascinated by it? …But then he noticed. He looked at it a bit more closely and saw the three small familiar swirls.

The triskelion.

“That was buried with my father,” Derek said, his voice soft and sad, sounding small. “My mother marked all of his weapons with that mark. They were supposed to protect him…”

Stiles couldn’t help but ask, “You know, you said your dad was killed by a wolf…but when you were in Greece, you helped take care of wolves. Why?”

Derek licked his lips, swallowed, and then replied, “I wanted to learn about them. I wanted to…to know _why_ they killed him. But I never got any answers,” he added in a soft tone. “Instead, I found that I could not blame the wolves. Only the wolf that killed him.”

Stiles nodded and then leaned in and whispered into Derek’s ear, “If you wanna go back, now, that’s okay, I’ll understand,” but Derek shook his head and said, “No. I want to stay a bit longer. I…I need to see this. I need to see what is left behind,” and Stiles nodded again, understanding. Derek wanted to be there as a witness to what was left of his family. Even though he now had an even larger family that he never realized that he had, this was just as important to him, and Stiles understood that.

He slowly pulled back, re-tangling their fingers together, and he let him lead him through the rest of the tiny museum.

Stiles could wait for Derek to tell him the rest, to tell him how Peter had known…how he’d immediately figured it out. How Peter hadn’t reacted as much as someone should have to a statue coming to life. How Derek had been fine with Peter knowing, and not him.

He could wait a little bit longer to know why Derek had kept this from him.

He could wait.

 


	10. Patience Is Not Stiles' Strong Suit

**Chapter 10**

Okay, so he couldn’t wait.

They had stopped at a small grocer not too far from the museum to get some food, and Stiles was feeling as if he was about ready to crawl out of his skin. He _needed_ to know, and it was killing him to wait until later that evening. However, a small voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Lydia), kept on telling him to _wait._

So he was. Waiting. Impatiently, but he was still waiting.

But something about the whole thing was bothering him. If all Derek had talked about with Peter was his family, then why had he gotten so mad at him? Maybe…maybe there was something about his family that Derek didn’t want Stiles to know, but he couldn’t imagine what it could be because he’d already told him so much.

By the time they made it back to the small home they were staying in, Stiles was feeling more than a bit antsy. He knew that there was a reason behind the whole thing, he just wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to know the answer. Derek’s body language had been loose and comfortable, but over the course of the past few hours, it had grown tense and agitated, and it was obvious to him that Derek was mentally preparing himself to tell Stiles whatever secret he’d been hiding, but it was more than just about his family, that much Stiles knew.

“What’s for dinner?” Derek asked, walking into the small kitchenette as Stiles stirred the pot on the stove and said, “Nothing fancy, just some potato soup.”

Derek nodded and then walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist, resting his head on his shoulder, and then said into his ear, “It smells good…”

Stiles smiled and leaned back into him.

“Of course, it does, I’m the one cooking it,” he smugly retorted, and Derek let out a breath of air against his neck and Stiles shivered. The sensation skittered down his spine and settled into a low warmth in his stomach. The man barely had to do anything to have him completely at his mercy.

But all that was doing was acting as a distraction.

Shaking his head, Stiles slowly pulled himself from Derek’s arms and said, “Why don’t you go take a seat at the table? This is pretty much ready,” and Derek nodded stiffly, picking up on his suddenly chilled demeanor, and went back to the small table just catty-corner to the kitchenette, grabbing a couple of bowls and spoons as he went. Stiles smiled at that. Even when he could tell that Derek knew something was off with him, he didn’t press the issue. Stiles kinda wished that he would.

Brushing the thought to the side, he brought the soup to the table and poured some for each of them, before quickly putting it back on the stove and then sitting back down across from him.

Derek smiled at him across the table as he took a sip and then said, “It’s good,” and Stiles scoffed and put a hand to his chest and said jokingly, “Only _good?_ Excuse me, but I am the best cook that I know, and I happen to know that this isn’t just good, it’s the best damn potato soup you’re ever gonna taste,” and Derek chuckled at that, and Stiles felt part of the stiffness between them dissipate.

They ate dinner mostly in silence, exchanging light banter, both of them avoiding what they knew was coming for that evening. Sometimes it was just better to avoid the issue for as long as you could…even though that probably wasn’t the healthiest way to go about it, that’s how they were doing it.

Dinner took too long and ended too soon.

Stiles thought about putting it off until after dessert, but he realized he was simply putting off the inevitable.

Instead, as soon as they’d finished cleaning up, he grabbed Derek by the wrist and gently tugged him over to the small loveseat in the main room.

They sat down and Derek held onto Stiles’ hand in the same way that he’d been holding onto it ever since he’d fallen of that pedestal in the middle of the Vatican museum. Stiles returned the gesture, and then looked up at him and didn’t have to say a word. Immediately, Derek let out a long sigh.

“Oaky. So…you know there’s something I haven’t told you.”

Stiles nodded, but didn’t say a word, letting Derek take his time and tell him at his own pace.

“Even after everything’s that happened, I…I wasn’t sure you would believe me, and I still don’t think you will, but I’m going to try. Okay. Here it is.” He took another deep breath. “I’m a werewolf.”

Crickets.

Stiles sat there, his mind slowly processing what the other man had just said, trying to make it fit.

Derek seemed to reluctantly pull his hand away from Stiles’, while he tried to put it all together, though, just as before, nothing he’d just said seemed to fit.

Was…was he joking? Werewolves?

Okay, yeah, sure, he was a statue who’d come to life when Stiles had touched his hand, but this…this was…well, okay. Not as farfetched as what had already happened, to be honest.

Okay. He could get behind this.

“Okay.”

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, and Stiles rolled his eyes and said, “Look, I know it’s a stretch, but honestly this seems like less of a stretch than having you come to life in my arms after being a statue for over two thousand years.” He paused, and then pointed out, “What I don’t understand is how it’s possible, since there was a full moon two nights ago.”

Derek nodded and explained, “I was born this way, so I can control the shift. My…my whole family was this way.”

“So…when you said your father was attacked by a wolf, do you mean…?”

He nodded again.

“Yes. He was attacked by a werewolf from another pack. It was one of the reasons why my mother wanted to get me out, first. I was next to lead the family.”

He wrung his hands between his knees, looking agitated, but he kept on talking.

“I hid it from everyone I knew after she left me there, because I knew that they would…they would hurt me. They believed in gods, but they didn’t believe in us. They would have thought that I was a demon,” he said quietly, his eyes focused on the floor. “I didn’t shift the entire time I was there because I knew what would happen if I did. I’d be killed.”

Stiles was quiet and then Derek looked up and softly added, “I figured when you saved me, you wouldn’t believe me, so I didn’t say anything, so I thought that no one would ever know. But then I met Peter…”

His voice trailed off and Stiles couldn’t help but prod, “About Peter…something changed when you two met. What was it?”

Derek locked eyes with him.

“He recognized me. Apparently, I look just like a nephew of his that died in a fire, that was how he knew we were related. He also immediately recognized that I was a werewolf, of course,” he said offhandedly, and at that, Stiles stood up from the couch and said, “Hold up, what?! How?!”, and Derek looked up at him, confusion marring his brow.

“Well, he’s a werewolf, too,” he admitted.

…and suddenly Stiles started laughing, and he knew that he was only confusing Derek further, but he couldn’t help it.

“Oh god,” he said, collapsing back onto the couch, shoving his hands through his hair. “You have no idea how much that explains his personality!” He took a deep breath, trying to stop his laughter, and then explained, “I have known since day _one_ that something was off with that guy, I just didn’t know what it was, and I thought that he was an abusive, controlling prick, even though I know Lydia would never get involved with someone like that, but now…god, it explains so much! He’s, he’s territorial,” Stiles started listing off, ticking items off with his fingers, “He’s always preening over his hair, he practically snarls at people when he’s angry, he’s, he’s…he’s a freakin’ drama queen when it comes to showing off how much money he spends on Lydia…!”

He slumped back further into the couch, letting his hands fall to his thighs and then looked over at Derek, who was looking at him with the same confused look as before. Stiles chuckled and reached out and gently tugged on Derek’s hand and said, “Hey…thanks for trusting me.”

Derek gave him a tentative smile in return.

“Thanks for listening to me and believing me.”

The two of them sat there for a long while, Derek’s thumb absently running over Stiles’ wrist as they held hands, and then Stiles leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He then took a deep breath and said, “You know, you telling me that you’re a werewolf actually fills in a lot of holes for me,” and, again, that little furrow appeared on Derek’s brow, and Stiles quickly explained, “All the stuff we learned back at the Lyceum…all that stuff with wolves and triskelions and Celtic and Roman mythology; none of it really fit until now.”

Derek nodded and said, “Yes, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Stiles immediately reassured him, “Hey, no, don’t worry about it, I completely get it. I mean, I was still freaking out over the fact that you were a statue, and I think you did the right thing waiting to tell me. My brain might have imploded from all that information,” and Derek let out a sound that was almost a laugh.

Stiles kept on talking.

“I mean, everything makes more sense, now! Why you got so upset when I talked to Peter, why you’ve been so quiet and withdrawn…I mean,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than before, “I understand why you didn’t say anything and I don’t blame you. You’ve got this whole history that I don’t know about, and I’m only just starting to wrap my head around it all. This is something that’s only ever been fairytales for me, and now it’s all real…”

His voice trailed off, but then he asked, “I have to know, though…what do nemetons have to do with it?”

Derek seemed to stare into space for a long while, but then he finally answered, “They’re sacred spaces for werewolves. They help protect us, keep us safe from outside magic that would harm us…”

Stiles slowly put all the pieces together. There was one at the Apollo Lyceum, there was one in Beacon Hills…which means that there was most likely one at Navan Fort. But Stiles hadn’t seen any sign of it, which meant that it was probably gone. Oh, hell. The big empty space at the top of the hill. Stiles had the very distinct impression that it hadn’t been empty when Derek had used to go there as a child, he would bet money on it.

“Derek,” he gently asked, rubbing his thumb over his, “Is the nemeton here gone?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

God. That must have been hard for him. Not sure of what to say, the two of them sat there in silence for several long minutes, and Stiles did the only thing that he could think of. He held Derek’s hand and just sat there with him. He may not have known what it meant to lose a home, but he knew what it meant to lose a family, so he could silently support him in the way that he used to with his dad on the hard nights. Losing his mom had been hard on both of them, and then when he’d lost Allison, it had been like losing a sister.

He knew what that kind of pain was like, at least, so he could help him through that much.

After what felt like a long enough time, he gently squeezed Derek’s hand.

Trying to shift the subject, he said, “If…If you ever want to show me your werewolf side, I’d be fine with that, just so you know.” Derek looked startled at his words, so he hurriedly added, “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d be okay with it, if you ever…you know. Wanted to.”

The older man’s eyes softened.

“Yeah, I’d…I’d like that.”

They sat there for a long time, and then Stiles asked, “If it’s not too much trouble, can I ask you something?” He nodded. “When you, you know, turn into a werewolf, what do you look like? Do you go half wolf or what? I’m just curious. I mean, I’ve seen a lot of movies and tv shows, but you never really know what it’s like, so…”

Instead of looking upset, Derek smiled at him and said, “I could show you, now, if you like,” and Stiles grinned and nodded, not expecting him to be so comfortable with him so quickly, and pulled back as Derek stood up from the couch and moved to the middle of the tiny living room.

“Give me a second, here,” he said after a moment, “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” and Stiles patiently waited, fully not expecting his evening to have turned out the way it had so far, willing to take anything that he would give him. This wasn’t about him, after all.

It was about Derek.

Derek stood there for a moment, and then turned his head sharply down and to the left and a low growl escaped him as his head then snapped straight up and Stiles saw a flash of gold eyes, sharp canines, and then Derek’s body seemed to contort and bend in on itself as he dropped down to hands and knees, a disturbing grinding and crunching sound coming from his body as bones shifted, broke, and reformed, black fur sprouting across his entire body, and suddenly there was a huge, hulking black wolf in the middle of the room with softly glowing gold eyes.

Unsure of what to do, Stiles sat on the couch, frozen.

And then he slowly got up and carefully got to his knees on the floor in front of Derek.

Carefully, he lifted his hand towards the big, black muzzle and asked, unsure if he could understand him, “Can I pet you?”

In response, Derek stepped towards him and bumped his nose under Stiles’ hand and let out a soft, “Whuff,” and Stiles knew that he understood and even _wanted_ to be petted. Feeling overwhelmed, but also in complete and utter awe, he stroked his fingers along his nose, scratched him briefly behind his ears, and then let out a soft sigh when he was able to sink his fingers into the deep fur around his neck.

Unable to help himself, he sat down hard on the floor and wrapped his arms around the werewolf’s neck and pressed his face into his fur. He still smelled like Derek.

As if trying to make it easier for him, Derek sat back on his hind legs, making it easier for Stiles to get his arms around him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, hugging Derek and breathing him in, relishing in the fact that he trusted him enough to let him do it, but it was long enough that his butt started to tingle and he began to feel a faint strain in his back from the slightly awkward position. But he didn’t want to let go. He stayed as long as he could, but then suddenly felt warm, soft skin in place of fur and looked up in confusion when he saw a very naked Derek in his arms instead of a wolf.

“How did you…how did I not hear…?”

Derek quickly explained, “Normally there isn’t really a sound. It sounded so bad when I shifted the first time because I hadn’t done that in a long time. The second time around was easier.”

The last part was said with a smile as he lifted his hand and placed it on Stiles’ jaw.

The two of them shared a look and then leaned into each other and kissed each other as if it was the first time. Which it sort of was, Stiles admitted to himself as the kiss moved from soft and sweet to hot and heavy, Derek wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and surging to his feet, easily carrying him towards the bed.

No more secrets between the two of them.

Just them.

As he tossed him onto the bed, helping him get out of his clothes, Stiles thought to himself, _I have a werewolf boyfriend. This is even better,_ and then let himself be manhandled into position by the much stronger man, suddenly realizing how much he must have been holding back the entire time.

Derek settled on top of him once they were both naked and softly breathed into his ear, “I love you, Stiles,” and his heart clenched.

“I love you, too, Derek…”

It wasn’t even hard to say.

Because it was the truth.

They sort of melted into each other after that, neither of them rushing a thing, sinking into the covers beneath them, not really trying to rush what was happening. This time was different, as Derek showed off his strength, no longer holding back, pressing his weight in between Stiles’ thighs, one hand easily holding both of his above his head, and Stiles sighed into his mouth as he felt the sharp nip of canines on his lower lip, playfully tugging at it.

How had he not realized? Derek was warm all over and now it all made sense and slid into place in his mind as easily as Derek slid into him nearly an hour later, after teasing him and prepping him for so long that he thought he might just lose his mind.

Stiles felt something inside of him purr in contentment as Derek deftly took him apart with slow, deliberate thrusts that had his eyes rolling back and his toes curling as his legs rose around Derek’s hips and his calves tightened around his lower back, feeling every muscle in his back bunch and release as he made love to him. This was more than sex, he thought to himself as Derek folded himself over him, his arms pressed into the mattress to either side of his head, his lips brushing against his shoulders, his breath coming out in halting gasps against his neck with every thrust.

Soon enough, his rhythm faltered, and he sped up, causing Stiles to cry out and gasp, “Derek!”, one hand dropping down, nails digging into his side.

It only seemed to spur him on.

The smooth, almost drowsy rhythm was now fierce and driving and forced Stiles to try and catch his breath with every thrust that seemed to inch him up the bed each time. Soon enough he was bent in half, shoulders and back on the bed, his knees nearly touching his chest, and Derek’s eyes were screwed shut as he pounded him into the mattress.

“D-Derek,” he managed to gasp out. “Open…open your eyes. Please--!”

His eyes shot open and his rhythm stuttered.

Solid gold.

Stiles keened and breathed out, “Make me come,” and that seemed to do it.

Suddenly he was pistoning in and out faster than before and Stiles felt his eyes roll back up inside his head and his vision go white around the edges as he came harder than he had in his entire life. His whole body was like a livewire, seizing and curling in on itself, and he cried out, his neck arching back even as his body arched up into Derek, nothing making sense—

He came to a while later, Derek laying next to him, gently running a hand over his chest, tucking his head into his neck and breathing in deeply.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, and Stiles nodded, reaching over and putting his hand on top of his.

“Amazingly enough, yeah, I am.”

Derek chuckled and Stiles smiled.

“So, uh,” he tentatively asked, “Can you do that thing with your eyes whenever you want?”

He looked up at him and Derek’s grin turned slightly feral as he leaned in and said, “You mean…like this?” and flashed his eyes at him and Stiles felt his lower half stir in interest and he let out a low groan. Oh, yeah. This was the best thing that had ever happened to him, that much was for sure.

 _Thank you, Peter,_ he said silently as Derek rolled back over him and began to kiss him all over again.

 


	11. Apparently, It's All Connected

**Chapter 11**

The next day, things felt about a thousand times lighter. Instead of heading to the ruins, Stiles was firmly set on being a cheesy tourist, and dragged the two of them to a local pub for lunch. It was one thing that had been on his bucket list for years: get an Irish beer in an Irish pub.

And now he was taking Derek with him.

However, after finding out that he was a werewolf, he had pestered him with questions all morning, and even though Derek admitted that he didn’t care for alcohol, Stiles had a feeling that the wolf couldn’t get drunk anyway.

Derek had smiled at him indulgently as he asked every stupid question he could think of, from how did silver affect him, all the way up to could he smell emotions? Apparently, silver had no effect on him and, yes, he could smell emotional states if they were strong enough. He said they lingered in sweat on the skin and helped him tell when people were telling the truth. And that it was why he’d trusted Stiles, and then also trusted Lydia and Peter.

Stiles was still skeptical about Peter, but if Derek trusted him, then he could do it, too. Eventually.

And now, Stiles sat across from him at a tiny pub table, grinning like an idiot as Derek tried french fries for the first time.

“This…this is very good,” he said with a full mouth, taking another bite, and Stiles’ grin stretched even wider. “This is,” he added, chewing, swallowing, and then taking another piece, “ _Really_ good,” and Stiles chuckled and stole a piece from his plate and said, “Yeah, they’re my favorite, too.”

He let Derek have the rest and then ordered them both a pint.

As juvenile as it was, he got a kick out of asking for it, having flashbacks to watching Lord of the Rings with Allison on the couch on the weekends, always giggling like idiots when it came to that scene, when the hobbits found out that it came in pints. The memory stung for a moment, but then settled and turned into a simple, lingering hint of nostalgia. That felt good; being able to think of her without suddenly spiraling into one of his usual depressions.

Feeling buoyed by his memory, and by the food, he settled a bit deeper into his chair. The two of them continued to enjoy their meal and then a little while later, a server came out and gave them their drinks.

Instead of leaving as soon as he’d given them their’ pints, the man stopped and gave Derek a once over and Stiles felt slightly possessive at seeing the look, but then their server said to them, “Pardon me for askin’, but are you a Hale?”

Both of their eyes shot up at that, and Derek tentatively answered, “Uh, that’s what I’m trying to find out. I came here to learn more about my family,” he added carefully, being particular with his words, which Stiles was grateful for, and then their server shook his head and drawled, “I swear, you look jus’ like a friend o’ mine. Same hair, same coloring, same eyes…I mean, my god, jus’ lookin’ at ya makes me think my friend ‘as a los’ brother!”

Derek smiled and chuckled, “Well, I doubt it. No family in the area,” and again their server shook his head.

“Like someone jus’ decided to make another one o’ them jus’ for the hell of it, I tell yeah,” he mumbled as he turned and walked away, heading back towards the bar, while Stiles and Derek shared an amused look over their drinks.

As they sipped their beers, they knocked knees under the table, and Stiles tucked his ankle behind Derek’s, pulling it closer to him. He couldn’t help but keep staring at him. When Derek had come off that statue pedestal nearly a week ago, he’d been clean shaven. Now, though, after a few days, he’d gone past light stubble and heavy stubble, and already had the beginnings of a beard that looked like it was going to be sinfully soft once it came in the whole way.

They spent the rest of the time finishing their beers, and then sat there and talked out what their plans were for the next couple of days.

“I was thinking we find a local library and dig through some family records,” Stiles suggested. “Then we can go see some more sights. How does that sound?”

Derek smiled.

“Good. Let’s do it.”

He reached across and squeezed his hand and they shared a smile. As they stood up to go, however, their server caught them at the door and said, “Look, I know i’s not my place, but you should head down to the commons and into the gift shop. My friend works there, and she’d be right thrilled to meet another Hale!”

Stiles nodded, as did Derek, and said, “Yeah, we’ll do that. Thanks for the beer!”

“Anytime!”

They walked down the road, enjoying the scenery and the feel of the place. As they wandered further into town, Stiles looked over at Derek and smiled, still quietly marveling at the fact that he was not only in love with him, but that the most beautiful man he had ever known was also in love with him.  He then glanced at the storefronts, taking a look at what might catch their attention, and then saw an older building with a sign out front that said it was the local library. Perfect.

He grabbed his hand a bit tighter and then said, “Hey, c’mon. Let’s go the library and see what we can find in the records,” and Derek smiled and let himself be pulled over to the library, but Stiles noticed how he glanced in the direction of the gift shop. Maybe after they would stop in and meet the resident Hales.

He smirked and then said, “We’ll go in there after, Derek. Promise.”

Derek ducked his head, but a faint smile appeared on the corner of his lips, and Stiles knew that he was pleased that he’d noticed.

However, the instant the two of them entered the library, Derek’s eyes went up and around, and Stiles had the same reaction. It was an amazing sight. The building was old, and the shelves were stacked high, almost precariously in certain places. He didn’t know where to start, so he quickly glanced around the stacks, trying to find someone to help them. There had to be a genealogical section of the library, considering just how old it was.

He started looking up at the ends of the rows, trying to find his way around the room.

Just as he was about to give up, Stiles heard a voice from the far recesses of the library say, “Ca’ I help you find somethin’, young man?”

Perfect.

\--

Two hours later, they were each deeply entrenched in separate books, each dealing with a different branch of either the Hale or the Kell family. Stiles was following back one line that lead back to a name that was very smudged. It went back to just before the Romans, and had him in B.C., and he was more than slightly shocked, as he didn’t know that family records could go back that far.

He stared at the letters, trying to force them to make a name, and the best he could come up with was Lange, which, of course, made no sense.

Rubbing his eyes, he leaned back in the chair and grunted.

“Ugh. I don’t know how much longer I can stare at this, Derek,” he said, looking over at him, where he was bent down over another book, his nose nearly touching the page. Stiles couldn’t help but smile a bit at the sight, but then said, “Hey, how about we take a break?”, causing the man to look up.

“Huh?”

Stiles laughed.

“A break, Derek. It’s been a few hours, so why don’t we get up and walk around? I haven’t found anything yet, and it doesn’t look like the books are going anywhere, so…let’s get something to eat,” and as soon as he said it, his stomach growled, as did Derek’s, and he conceded and followed Stiles out of the library back into the town square. As soon as they were outside, Derek unexpectedly took the lead and said, “Let’s try over there,” and pulled Stiles to a small, out of way café.

They stepped inside and a couple of patrons glanced up and Stiles saw a few second glances as they walked up to the counter. He knew that it was most likely because of how Derek looked: gorgeous, as always, but also because he probably looked like a few of the locals.

Derek stared at the chalkboard behind the counter and Stiles glanced at it and quickly ordered sandwiches for both of them that they could take with them.

Derek didn’t seem to notice the stares, luckily. They got their sandwiches and went back outside, sitting at one of the empty tables. Derek smiled at him as he bit into his corned beef with mustard and pickles, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile back.

They hadn’t gotten very far in the genealogy, but he brought it up anyway.

Swallowing his bite, he asked, “So, have you found anything yet?” and Derek shook his head, swallowed, and replied, “Not yet. But it’s interesting to read,” and Stiles nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, it is. Hard to read, sometimes,” he admitted, “But interesting. The Kell line is _old_ and I’m having trouble reading some of the records.”

Derek nodded and said, right as he took another bite, “Yes, it is hard to read, but nice to see my language, again,” and at that, Stiles did a double take. What did he mean by that?

He was about to ask him but was interrupted when a young woman from inside the café walked outside and approached their table asked, “Excuse me, but are you related to the Hales?” and Stiles and Derek both shook their heads. She then said, “I’m jus’ wonderin’, ‘cause I could swear that you could be Cora’s brother,” they pointed to the shop the man at the bar had told them to go to, “The lady who runs that there shop. If you’re a relative, it’d be wonderful to fin’ out ‘cause they’ve been so lonely. Only their cousin’s left of the men in the family, and she’d love to see another Hale, mind you,” explained the stranger.

Derek swallowed his bite, nodded, wiped his mouth, and then replied, “I’m looking into it. Thank you for letting me know.”

She nodded and threw over her shoulder as she walked away, “Anytime!”

Stiles let out a small sound of amusement and looked at Derek and said, “You _really_ must look like them if everyone thinks you’re one of them. Want to go over there before we go back to the library?” and Derek nodded, and Stiles then added, “Okay, then. We go over there, introduce ourselves, and then get back to finding out where you’re from.”

Derek grinned and they went back to finishing their sandwiches, their ankles tangling under the table.

As soon as they finished, they walked hand in hand over to the store that all of the locals had been directing them to, Stiles feeling incredibly curious to see just how far the resemblance went. Everyone seemed equally taken aback when they saw Derek, so as soon as they walked into the store, he swiveled his head, trying to get a look at the woman.

A shock of black hair appeared around the corner and a soft, but firm voice greeted them with, “Hi, how can I help you?”

She looked up.

Stiles could barely believe it.

He gaped for a moment, and then she let out a small, laugh, remarkably similar to Derek’s, and remarked, “You two must be the ones that I’ve heard about. Small town, you see, and people talk,” she said, walking past them and putting the items in her hands onto the counter. She then turned and faced them and said, “I’m Cora Hale. Pleased to meet you.”

She extended her hand, and Stiles felt frozen…but luckily Derek was smarter and much more polite than him, and reached out and grasped her hand, shook it once, and then said, “Pleased to meet you, Cora. I’m Derek, and this is Stiles.”

He went to pull back, but Cora held onto Derek’s hand a moment longer, and she said in her soft Irish lilt, “I can see why they all wanted us to meet. You _definitely_ look like a Hale.” She held his hand for a few more seconds, and then dropped it and tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “I’d love to hear how you came across us an’ our family here in Ireland…”

Derek shot a glance over at Stiles and Stiles nodded.

Licking his lips, Derek explained, “I’ve, uh…I’ve been living in Greece since I was a kid, but I lived _here_ when I was a child, with my mom. And family.” He paused and looked at her and then added, “You have the same name that my sister had. You look a bit like her, too,” he admitted, and Stiles felt like an idiot for not realizing it earlier when her name had been mentioned to them by the kind stranger outside of the café. “But she had green eyes, not brown.”

Cora nodded and smiled.

“Well, it’s a family name, so I’ve been told. We’re the last descendants of what is known as the Kell line. One of the oldest ones in Ireland.”

She walked around them and pulled out a few stools from behind the counter and gestured for them to sit down, which they did, and she then walked over to the door and flipped the sign to ‘Closed’ and then came back and sat across from them. She settled her hands in her lap and then gave them both a level stare, and it reminded Stiles so much of Derek, that it took him a moment to catch his breath.

Finally, Stiles asked, “Okay, uh…I guess, what can you tell us about the Hales? Family stories, funny anecdotes, legends?”

She laughed.

“Well, not much in the way of anecdotes, but we have a few legends,” she admitted, smiling. “One of which involves one of our ancestors secreting her eldest son down to the Grecian mountains, to hide him from the marauding Roman legions and to save what she could of her family.” She gave Derek a long, curious look and then gently suggested, “Perhaps you’re from that line,” and then glanced at Stiles, as well, and added, “You certainly look like it.” Just from the secretive curve of her lips, Stiles had a hunch that she knew something…and then he felt as if it was confirmed when she suddenly looked Stiles dead in the eye and said, “There’s also a story that one of our ancestors had a spell placed on ‘em, an’ that they couldn’t come back until true love had grasped their hand…”

Stiles stared right back at her…and then reached over and grasped Derek’s hand and said, “Yeah, I think we’ve heard that one, too.”

Cora smiled and slid from the stool and stood up and said, “Well, then, seems like you’re well versed on the stories. And, from the way you look, Derek, I am more than certain that you are one of us. Welcome to the family,” and her smile stretched a little bit wider.

Stiles smiled as Cora reached for Derek’s hand, but he instead pulled her into a hug, which she returned with a squeeze around his waist.

When they pulled back from the affectionate embrace, she said, “I guess I should tell Peter that you found us, after all,” and Stiles immediately felt his eyes go red around the edges. Peter? Wait, how had he…and then Stiles groaned as he put it all into place. The male cousin that the locals had mentioned.

Peter.

Grinding his back teeth, he asked, “You’ve been in touch with Peter?” and she nodded and said, “He called me less than a week ago, said he’d found some distant relative of ours. As much as I hate my cousin, personally, I still trust him.” Cora looked back at Derek and then said in an odd tone, “It’s nice to have more pack, around,” and her eyes flashed gold for a brief second and Stiles held in his gasp.

She was just like Derek: a werewolf.

He nodded and then flashed his own eyes back at her and replied, “It’s good to have a pack, again,” and she smiled wide.

“So, I might see you around, then?”

Stiles and Derek shared a look and then Stiles nodded and answered for the both of them, “Definitely. We’ll be here for the next few days, if you want to grab lunch or dinner.”

And with that, she went back and flipped the sign back over and he and Derek made their way back towards the library. Even though Derek didn’t say a word, Stiles knew that he was thrilled to have family again, and that he had someone who was just like him: a werewolf. Stiles was just as thrilled as he was.

He was getting a family back.

He deserved it.

\--

They spent a few more hours in the library, Stiles finally making some headway with the one family line that he’d been unable to make out. With some help from Derek, whose first language had apparently been old Irish, he found out that there was a family line that was distantly related to the Kell/Hale line, the one that he thought was Lange, was actually the Laheys.

Unlike the Kell line, which had eventually changed into the Hale family bloodline, the Lahey line hadn’t changed.

Just a little before eight pm, Stiles broke the silence in the library with a loud, “Holy shit, I found it!”, which earned him a stern glare from the gender ambiguous librarian.

Stiles lowered his voice and tugged at Derek’s sleeve, who sat across from him and was nearly falling asleep with his head on a stack of books, and then rattled off everything he’d figured out.

“Okay, so apparently the Laheys were close to the Kell line, until the Roman legions started going through Ireland, so they disappeared by heading off towards, get this,” he flipped the page over to a map, “Greenland. They settled there and then, eventually, they started to spread out over time and made their way to what is now known as--” Stiles stretched and grabbed another book and dragged it over and pointed at a page filled with detailed maps and tiny writing. “—modern-day California. And not just _any_ place in California, oh no, but _Beacon Hills!”_

Derek went from nearly comatose to fully awake at Stiles’ words and stared down at the page that he pointed at. His eyes were wide as he scanned the page, reading what Stiles had just read not a minute before, looking just as amazed as Stiles felt but was too exhausted to show.

“Beacon Hills? But, does that mean that they’re, you know…like me? Like Peter and Cora?”

Werewolves.

Stiles shrugged and admitted, “I don’t know, but it’s a possibility. And here’s the hilarious part,” he quickly added. “So, you know how I told you the last name seemed familiar to me?” Derek nodded. “Well, it turns out that not only did I graduate with a Lahey, but he dated my best friend Alison for two years. God, I feel like an idiot!” He rubbed his hair, which was sticking up at odd angles and reluctantly admitted, “Alison and I never talked about that kind of stuff, you know? I knew she was seeing someone, that she had a boyfriend, but I never pressed her about it because I knew her dad didn’t approve! Gah!”

He slid both hands into his hair and then around the back of his neck and leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

Finally, after a long, silent moment, Derek asked, “Do you remember anything about him?”

Stiles shrugged.

“Not as much as I’d like. Uh, his name was Isaac,” he dimly recalled and then leaned forward once more, resting his forearms absently over the pile of books in front of him. “He was on the lacrosse team. I mean, I was, _too_ , but I didn’t actually play. He was front and center, one of the best. We didn’t hang out in the same circles,” he confided. “He was into sports, I was into books. Alison was our only connection…”

He stared absently in front of him, remembering his friend, but was brought back to the present with the touch of Derek’s fingers on his arm.

“I am sorry if it pains you to remember her,” he said softly, but Stiles shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. Hey,” he gestured to the books, “At least we know what we’re looking for when we head back to Beacon Hills.”

Derek nodded, and then the two of them went ahead and cleaned up all the books they’d pulled out, while trying to avoid the curious looks from the librarian. Eventually, they finished, and as they left, the librarian asked them, “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Derek answered before Stiles could.

“Yes, we did. Thank you.”

They nodded, and the two of them nodded back.

They finally had some answers. Now, they just had to put the rest of the pieces back together.

 


	12. Bad News

**Chapter 12**

The next couple of days were easier for them, and they spent several hours at the store one day, talking with Cora, getting know about the family she had left. They learned that Peter was her uncle and that she had lived with him for about a year after his family had been in a horrible fire back in Beacon Hills, and Stiles filled her in on what had happened with the fire.

A kid named Theo Raken had been discovered with all of the supplies and the motives to go after the family.

That was all Stiles knew because of his dad, who was the sheriff of the town. He said as much to Cora, and she had just thanked him and then changed the discussion to more mundane topics.

Stiles, despite acting casual and calm, still had his thoughts on what they’d discovered only a couple of days before. There was a nemeton in Beacon Hills, and it tied back to the Hale family, and possibly another family that knew the Hales. It was like everything that he’d learned since Rome was all finally coming together, which should have been a good thing…but the problem was, Stiles _still_ couldn’t see the bigger picture, and that irritated him.

Instead, he tried to focus on Derek and showing more things that he wasn’t familiar with, like tech.

It was adorable to watch him swipe the credit card as they paid for a few souvenirs, and still marvel at Stiles’ phone as he pulled up the camera and took a picture of him, something that he’d been doing over the past few days, but still never failed to make Derek grin.

Over the next few hours, he took probably far too many photos of the two of them, unable to help himself and annoyed at the fact that Derek consistently looked good in every photo he took, no matter what angle. He was just perpetually beautiful. Well, okay, it didn’t _really_ bother him. Instead, he showed Derek how to take pictures and silently vowed to get him a phone so he could show him how to use every part of it, because he knew that it would be adorable to see his eyes light up as he stared down at games like Angry Birds and learned how to play them.

It was late afternoon on their fourth day in Ireland, and they had gone off to a small island, some place called the Cliffs of Mohr, mentioned in the brochure as one of the most breathtaking sites on the island. As they wandered down the path, Derek’s eyes lit up as he looked out over the ocean, and Stiles was struck by his profile and the way that the wind ruffled his hair into short tufts.

Stiles smiled.

He took a quick photo and then jogged to catch up to him.

They stood there for a long moment, and then Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and said softly, “I think I’m ready to go to Beacon Hills. I mean,” he quickly added, as if knowing what Stiles’ objection was going to be, “I know I just found family, and pack. Which is important. …But I want to find out the rest. I want to know where they went and why they left.”

Stiles looked at him, marveling at how he’d gotten so lucky, and then nodded and said, “Okay. We can do that.” He squeezed his hand and then suggested, “How about at the end of the week?”

Derek nodded.

They stared out over the edge of the cliff a bit longer, and then headed back to the parking lot that had the bus that would take them back to the ferry. Derek seemed utterly fascinated by all the different modes of transportation. Planes were amazing, boats were okay, but he found cars even better, and Stiles found it captivating to watch him react to new things.

As soon as they were back on the mainland, Stiles was surprised to hear his phone ring.

He glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was his dad’s number and he grinned.

“Hey, pops,” he said as he answered, unable to hide the fact that he was thrilled to hear from him. “What are you doing calling me? I thought we agreed that I was free from the helicopter parenting for this trip.” He said the last part jokingly, because he was always happy to hear from his dad but was taken aback when an unfamiliar voice answered him.

_“Is this Stiles Stilinski?”_

He paused.

“Yeah, this is him. Excuse me, but who are you and why do you have my dad’s phone?”

Derek seemed to pick up on Stiles’ worried tone and gave him a look, one eyebrow raised, and put a hand on his arm.

Stiles barely registered it as the man on the other end of the line answered, _“My name’s Jordan Parrish and I’m your father’s new deputy. I’m calling to tell you that your father’s been hurt. He’s in the hospital, and he’s recovering, but I figured that you needed to know, despite the fact that I will most likely be losing my job by doing this because he explicitly told me not to call you.”_

His hand started to shake, but he managed to get out, “That…that sounds like him. Look, I’m not in the country right now, but I will be. I’ll, I’ll go ahead and book the first flight I can and be back there as a soon as possible. Just…what _happened?”_

Deputy Parrish let out a long sigh.

_“He was chasing a suspect and the suspect had a weapon on him that we didn’t know about and your father got shot.”_

“He was _shot?!_ ” Stiles exclaimed, the pitch of his voice raising higher than he knew he could go.

 _“Yes, he was shot.”_   He could practically hear the deputy nodding as he answered him. _“But it didn’t hit anything vital. However, it does mean that he’s going to be on desk duty for the next couple of months, at least. I think he’d like to see you, despite his protests.”_

Stiles nodded and said, “Yeah, like I said: first flight out. Uh…thank you, Deputy Parrish. Thanks for calling me.”

 _“Of course. It’s the least I could do,”_ he replied, and Stiles then said a polite goodbye and hung up the phone. He then looked over at Derek and said, “Uh, my dad…my dad’s been injured. I, uh…I need to go home. _We_ need to go…home.”

It felt a little odd to say the words ‘we’ and ‘home’ together in the same sentence, but Derek seemed to understand and nodded and grabbed his hand and gently lead Stiles back to their lodgings, where Stiles threw everything back into his bag as quickly as possible, and then called Peter to tell him what had happened. True to form, they had tickets on the next plane back to the states, straight to Dulles international, with a flight from there all the way back out to California. It would be about ten to fourteen hours total, depending on the situation, but Stiles didn’t care.

His dad was shot…and he needed to get back home to him.

\--

He wasn’t even sure where they were, he admitted to himself as Derek tugged him through the airport. He glanced up long enough to see that Derek was straining to read certain signs, and Stiles suddenly felt a wash of guilt come over him. It wasn’t fair to have the man who was outside of time trying to do this for him.

Shaking his head and clearing his eyes, he looked up at the signs and double checked their tickets, and then gently tugged at the werewolf’s arm and said, “This way, Der,” and lead him down to the correct terminal.

They had some time to wait for their flight.

As they waited, Stiles sunk deeper into his seat, feeling exhaustion pushing at the frayed edge of his nerves, but the adrenaline still rushing through his system at hearing that his father had been shot kept him alert, still worried. Derek reached over the armrest and ran his hand over his forearm and then squeezed his wrist, not saying a single word. He swung his head over from where he had been staring aimlessly ahead, and found that Derek’s profile was still beautiful, even when his clothes were wrinkled from the previous flight and his hair was far from being combed. Still beautiful, even with faint shadows under his eyes.

“I am so glad you’re here, Derek,” Stiles breathed out, and he turned his head and looked at him. Derek gave him a faint smile and Stiles added, “Thank you for coming back with me. I know…I know you wanted to stay a bit longer, and that this is—”

Derek suddenly interrupted him with, “Your dad is hurt. You should be with him.”

Those green-gold eyes of his pierced straight through him and Stiles let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes and sat up just enough to lean in and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, Derek.”

He regarded him softly, squeezed his hand and tangled their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead and replied, “I love you, too, Stiles.”

And they waited.

\--

The instant they landed in Sacramento, Stiles dragged Derek to the pick-up. He’d called Chris Argent, Alison’s father, and asked if he could pick them up, and he said that he knew what had happened to his dad and that he was more than willing to do so.

Introductions were quick as they got into the car, Chris acknowledging Derek with a brief nod, and then clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him in for an awkward half-hug over the divider between the front seats, he said, “Good to see you back, but wish it was under better circumstances,” and Stiles nodded and hugged him back.

He felt slightly guilty for Derek being shoved to the back seat, but Derek seemed perfectly okay with it, sneaking a hand over the back of the seat, Stiles reaching and grasping it instinctively.

He saw Argent cast their hands a quick glance, but then he must have thought it inconsequential, because he turned his eyes back to the road.

It was only about a two-hour drive, but it was easily the longest two-hour drive that Stiles had ever experienced in his life. Chris didn’t say much, but Stiles had expected that. He was still suffering from the loss of his daughter and Stiles was still grieving over the loss of his best friend. It had been a tragic accident, but it still left them both with a bitter taste in the back of their throats. Luckily, Derek seemed to realize that they were being quiet out of respect and said nothing to interrupt the silence.

As soon as they were in town, Stiles felt a bit of tension leave him. He was back home.

Argent pulled up to the front of the hospital and said, “I called before I came to pick you up. He’s on the third floor, room 309. Officer Parrish is stationed outside the door until six,” he added with a nod, and Stiles nodded back at him as he hiked his bag over his shoulder and replied, “Thanks, Chris. See you around?”

He gave him another short nod.

Stiles turned and saw Derek waiting for him, bag over his own shoulder, looking a bit lost. Of course, he did. He’d never been to a hospital before.

Stiles quickly explained as they walked in, “I don’t know if there’s a word for it in ancient Greek, but this is a hospital. It’s where people who are sick or injured go to get better. Doctors here have medicine that is far more advanced than what you’re used to. Normally,” he admitted with a wry grin as they stepped onto the elevator, “I’d be worried bringing you in here because you’re from the past, who knows what could make you sick, but you’re, you know, a werewolf, so I’m guessing that you can’t actually _get_ sick.”

Derek gave him a small smile and reassured him, saying, “I can’t get sick, Stiles. Don’t worry about it.”

He smiled back at him and absently stroked his hand, more focused on getting to the third floor, his foot beating out a faint rhythm on the linoleum floor that had been cleaned one too many times, and looked like it could peel away from whatever was underneath it with one hearty tug.

The elevator doors pinged open and he practically jumped out of them, Derek close behind. He only paused long enough to look at room numbers and let out a sigh of relief as he saw the door with a man in a uniform out front.

“You must be Stiles,” he said, just as he approached, and Stiles brusquely nodded and used his chin to point over the deputy’s shoulder as he asked, “Is he awake?”

From inside the room, a cranky, but happily familiar voice replied, “Yes, and he can hear you! What the hell are you doing here, Stiles?”

Pushing past Parrish, he stepped into the room and dropped his bag on the floor as he approached his dad’s bedside, swallowing as he saw the I.V. and the gauze and tape around his arm and the slight bulge of a much larger bandage on his ribs under his hospital gown.

“I’m here because your deputy was doing his job while you were failing to do yours,” he answered, glaring and smiling at his dad at the same time, hands tucked into his pockets, while Derek tried to make himself hidden in a chair in the corner of the room.

The sheriff groaned and growled out, “No, you’re here because my deputy disobeyed my direct orders and is now _fired_ ,” he shouted the last word so that Parrish could hear it, wincing as he did so, to which they both heard the man reply from the hallway, “Sorry, sir, what was that? I didn’t quite catch it,” and Stiles chuckled.

He called back to the deputy, “Ignore him, Deputy Parrish! He’s on a lot of painkillers and doesn’t know what he’s saying,” and his dad glared up at him.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then his dad asked, sounding more sober, “Seriously, son…what are you doing here? It wasn’t fatal. Hell, it’s barely gonna slow me down. My insurance actually covers this, and I’ll be back in the field in a few weeks.”

“Two months, dad. At _least,_ ” he said firmly, dropping his hands and leaning on the bedrail, letting the worry show in his tone. “I don’t care if I have to _chain_ you to that desk, you are staying there until I can get complete medical assurance that you are _completely_ healed and not at risk. Before you say a word,” he raised his hand, cutting his dad off, who he knew had some sort of quick retort, “I know you’re always at risk, which is why I think you should consider riding the desk full time. Just… _consider_ it. Please. For me and my own sanity, if not for yourself.”

His father gave him a look…and then he tilted his head and said, “Who’s your friend, Stiles?”

As if only just remembering, Stiles looked over his shoulder so suddenly it was almost comical, but then quickly recovered with, “Uh, dad…this is Derek. Derek Hale. He’s, uh…my boyfriend.”

The sheriff arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him, but it was less than effective from his prone position in the hospital bed.

“Hale, huh? You related to Peter Hale?”

Derek slowly stood up and approached the bed and answered, “He’s a distant relative. He’s helping me get started on a new life. Here. In the States.” Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief at his answer, and was even more relieved when Derek added, “I didn’t think I had any family, but then found out about him. He introduced me to Stiles.”

Okay, yes. Good cover story, Stiles thought to himself. _Really_ good cover story. Hell, why hadn’t he thought of that one?

His dad sat up a bit and then coughed and said, “I can see the family resemblance. You look remarkably like Peter’s sister, Talia,” and Derek drew in a sharp breath at the name. Stiles knew why, so he quickly changed the subject.

“Yeah, well, Peter set him up at his old loft downtown. You remember that place?” he asked, his fingers absently drumming on the bedrail, and his dad nodded.

“Yeah, I remember that place. Used to be a dump, but he fixed it up a while back. It’s a nice apartment,” he added, pressing a button that raised him so that he was sitting up. “Nice to see that he still has some family. So, Derek is it?” He nodded. “I’m Sheriff Stilinski,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand, and Stiles watched as Derek shook it firmly and gave him a polite nod. “So, you’re dating my son. What happened? Did you lose a bet with Peter?”

Stiles saw a faint furrow in Derek’s brow, and knew he didn’t understand the turn of phrase, and prepared to speak up and run interference, but then Derek answered, “No, sir. I just love him, that’s all.”

Wow. Now _that_ was a hell of an answer.

They exchanged a look…and his dad nodded, apparently happy with what he said. He then turned his gaze back to Stiles and said, “Okay, kiddo. You know the rules: clean up the kitchen, don’t empty out my refrigerator and leave me nothing but green stuff, and stay away from my beer,” and Stiles rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“Don’t worry about it, pops. I’m staying with Derek. You okay with that?”

The sheriff arched an eyebrow, but nodded.

They made small talk for the next few minutes, and then a woman approached the door and informed them that visiting hours were over, and so Stiles and Derek left. As soon as they were outside the hospital, he called an Uber for them to head over to the apartment. He’d memorized the address when Peter had first given it to them.

By the time they got there, both of them were exhausted. Stiles pressed the button for the top floor and let out a sigh of relief when he saw the Peter had had someone get the place ready for them: the bed was made, it looked like the fridge was completely stocked, and everything was clean. After throwing his bag towards the couch and missing, he threw himself onto the bed in the corner of the room, too tired to take notice of all the updates that Peter had given it since he’d last seen it.

His dad was in the hospital, but alright…and Stiles was out.

 

 


End file.
